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The Devil Does Care!

Summary:

In another life, Trevor Belmont, bloody and fearful and far too young to be alone, crossed the path of a generous, kind-hearted doctor who takes him to her home, despite her husband's objections.

(AU where Trevor is adopted by lisa :,) )

Chapter Text

Lisa Dracula-Tepes was so consumed with reading her map, she didn’t realise she was being accosted until she heard the squeaky shout of “Don’t move!”

A sword-tip quivered inches from her throat. She paused and her pack horse took a few more steps to realise they had stopped moving.

Lisa’s eyes travelled down the length of the sharp, handsome blade. The pummel of the sword was held by a determined-looking child, with a matt of black hair that hung in clumps and raw, scabbed red hands. A slicing scar cut through one eyebrow and continued over his cheek. As she took him all in, her mind switched into a doctor’s assessment—the child was far too thin, and the way he shifted uncomfortable suggested there might be other injuries.

“May I help you?” Lisa asked.

“Give me your money—and stuff!” The boy yelped, keeping the sword level.

Lisa peered down at him, “What sort of stuff?”

“What?”

“Money—and stuff,” Lisa repeated, “What sort of stuff?”

“Valuables,” The boy said, hotly, “Maybe… food.”

“Hmm,” Lisa said. She gave the sword tip a wide berth and continued walking, pulling her horse on with her.

“Wait!” The boy darted ahead, limping—and Lisa caught a repressed wince as he tripped on a hard root—a waved the sword at her again.

“Put that thing away,” Lisa said, sharply.

The boy went half-way through the motions of sheathing his sword before he realised what he was doing and stopped, swinging his sword up again.

“Put your weapon away,” Lisa said, adopting the same disapproving tone she used with her own son, “It’s rude to wave that around. Do you have no manners, accosting a woman in the woods like this?”

“It doesn’t matter you’re a woman,” The child said, eyes fixed on the earth.

Lisa raised an eyebrow, “Well, put that thing away and I will share my food with you.”

The boy’s eyes brightened and then he fell into a tangle of indecision. Eventually, he seemed to trust her, sheathing the weapon.

“There we go,” Lisa said, “There’s a clearing just through these trees, we can eat there.”

The boy nodded, hobbling after her. When they had settled in the clearing, she pulled out a thick sheet and set it down on the grass, bringing the remainder of her rations and setting them down on the fabric.

“Sit,” Lisa instructed, sitting down on one side of the fabric.

The boy sat opposite her, feet sticking out. His feet were bare and the skin was black with mud, and slightly lumpy. He waited impatiently to be allowed to eat.

Lisa passed him a chunk of bread, “Are you alone out here?”

The boy took a bit of bread and froze. His face scrunched up, as if he was smelling something unpleasant, and swallowed his bread. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the earth. He was, then.

“Do you have a home?” Lisa asked, “Wherever it is, I can bring you back.”

The boy shook his head sharply, “I can’t…” He seemed to run out of words, his eyebrows furrowing together.

“You can help yourself to whatever food you want,” Lisa prompted, gently.

The child nodded, and let the bag he had been carrying slip from his shoulders. He looked around inside it, pulling out a whip, three long daggers, a set of smart silk clothing and finally retrieved a wrapped chunk of dried meat. He set it down on the fabric, pushing it towards her.

Lisa accepted it graciously, putting off a small piece and chewing it. It tasted like leather.

It was very strange that he would have such beautiful, high quality weaponry but no food and no shoes. His dirty clothing, too, had once been fine silk. The cuffs were charred.

“Do you have any water, please?” the boy asked, breaking Lisa from her thoughts.

Lisa pulled her water skin from her satchel and passed it to him.

The boy pulled out the stopper and took a long drink. He stared down at the remaining food wistfully. From the sharply visible bones in his arms, Lisa guessed it had been a long time since he had eaten and his stomach was tight.

“Let me see your hands,” Lisa said, packing the food away before he could force himself to eat and make himself sick.

The boy hesitated and came closer, unfolding his hands to show her raw, red palms. Old blisters covered most of the pads of his fingers and the tops of his palms. Scabs were rough over his fingers.

“You’re burnt?” Lisa asked, looking over his hands delicately.

The boy nodded.

“Luckily I still have some burn salve on me,” Lisa said, reaching into her pack to retrieve the salve and bandages. She dabbed some on his palms and rubbed them in as gently as she could. To his credit, the boy did not cry out or jerk away, simply screwing up his face as she rubbed in the stinging salve. She bandaged his hands next, up to a little over the wrist. He held his hands up protectively, reluctant to touch anything.

“Your feet next,” Lisa said, beckoning.

The boy shifted his position, presenting his feet to her. The skin was black with mud, and broken in places. She ran a finger along the sole of a foot—and felt something hard.

“Ow!” The boy jerked in her grip.

Lisa lifted the foot into the air, peering down at it, “There’s—glass in here!”

The child said nothing.

“How did…?” Lisa turned the foot slightly, watching light gleam over the bloody broken glass.

“I… walked on some,” The boy said quietly, as if he was confessing to something.

Lisa stood up, and began packing the rest of her belongings onto her horse. She wrapped the dried meat the boy had brought and tucked it into her pack of food.

“Can you help me?” The boy asked, drawing up his knees to his chest.

“I can,” Lisa said, “But I need to take you to my home. I need my microscopes, my needles, my antibiotics… You need to come with me.”

The boy stood up, backing away, “I… how do I know I can trust you? What if you hand me in to the church?”

Lisa stilled. She faced him properly, putting a warm hand on his shoulder. With as much feeling and conviction as she could, she said, “I promise I won’t. I promise you won’t come to harm with me.”

The boy faltered.

He nodded.

Lisa smiled down at him, “There isn’t any room on my horse and I can’t have you walking on that foot.”

“So how am I going to…?” The boy asked.

Lisa picked him up.

The boy went tense with surprise, “What are you—?”

“Climb on my back,” Lisa prompted, “Come on now—I can’t hold you like this forever, even though you are pretty light.”

The boy climbed onto her back. He managed to get his short legs around her torso, like a monkey. He smelled of earth and the slightly sour scent of old, untreated injury. He was strong, despite his injuries, which was a good sign.

“Are you alright, up there?” Lisa asked, stretching out. The boy’s pack was tied to the horse’s side all the weaponry and spare clothing replaced. She took her horse’s reigns again and started to lead them in the direction she had been going originally.

“Yes,” The boy said, and paused, “Can I ask what your name is?”

“Oh!” Lisa shook her head, “I have been so rude. Imagine, me talking about manners yet failing to introduce myself! My name is Lisa Dracula-Tepes, of Lupu village.”

“Lupu,” The boy repeated, “I’ve been there. It smells bad.”

Lisa laughed, “It’s a farming town. You’re smelling the manure.”

The boy shifted his grip, bandaged hands brushing Lisa’s chin.

“May I ask your name?” Lisa asked.

“I’m Trevor,” The boy said.

“Do you have a surname?”

“Belmont,” Trevor said, quietly.

“Belmont?” Lisa asked, “Of the Belmont family?”

“Y-yes,” Trevor said.

“Oh, impressive,” Lisa said, sensing he needed reassurance, “That is a Great Family, isn’t it? It means you have strong blood in you.”

“Thank you,” Trevor said, and she felt him relax.

They walked for a long while. The landscape was sharp, with dramatic rises and falls of a deep green. The crested a rise and the castle came into view. Its dark towers twisted into the air, like a tree that had been struck by lightning. Fog and low clouds obscured the highest peaks.

Trevor leaned forward to get a closer look, nearly toppling Lisa over in the process. He gripped her shoulders tightly.

“What’s wrong?” Lisa asked.

Trevor settled back down, “Is that where we’re going?”

“Yes,” Lisa said, “Is there something wrong?”

Trevor made a noise like he wanted to say something—but he didn’t. Instead, he rested his head on his shoulder, a kind of forlorn air coming over him.

As they walked down the steep hill, the pack horse’s side butting into them, the ground underneath them changed from the hard, beaten earth of the forest path to the soft, almost marshy grassland. The grass seemed moss-like, mounds and mounds stretching out into the distance.

The castle’s heavy door came into view as they approached. It was a strange structure, with a very long, tall set of stairs and a humongous door that could have let a giant through without so much as stooping. The stone was very, very dark.

The earth was soft under her feet, and she made almost no sound. She left her horse to wander around the foot of the stairs and approached.

As she began to climb the long stone stairs, she felt Trevor slump a little bit. After a brief moment of worry, it turned out he had only fallen asleep. The stairs were steep, and despite her relative good health, Lisa still had to pause at the top to get her breath back. After a moment, she pushed the large door open.

The sight of the dark, cavernous entrance room. There was a flourish of black and red, and her husband materialised at the top of the stairs.

“Lisa,” Vlad Dracula-Tepes called, “You’re a little late. I was—”

“Hush!” Lisa whispered.

Vlad paused, and noticed the still form of the boy slung on his wife’s back. With another flourish, the vampire appeared at her side. He tilted his head, “Is he…?”

“Alive,” Lisa said, padding towards her office under the stairs, “But tired... and injured, too.”

Vlad followed her into her office, but hung at the doorway. Lisa eased the child from her shoulders and set him down on the patient’s bed. She had brought patients into the castle before, but never one so young, and never with such a grim expression. The worry that pinched her expression didn’t suit her, Vlad thought.

“What happened?” Vlad asked, voice low.

“The church,” Lisa said, fetching her surgeon’s kick, “Will you turn the lights on? I’d like to let him rest but we mustn’t leave the wounds to fester much longer.”

Vlad reached across and flipped the light switch. Light bloomed across the room. The boy’s eyes flickered open, dull until they caught sight of the vampire. He sat up, rolling hurriedly from the bed.

“Don’t stand,” Lisa ordered, but the boy ignored her, jumping to his feet and drawing a knife that had been hidden in his long pockets. The blade was wickedly sharp.

The boy pointed the knife at Vlad, eyes sharp and dark.

“It’s alright,” Lisa said, soothingly, while her husband just stood, watching the scene with mild interest. She made her way towards the child, hands raised in a placating gesture, “Everything is fine.”

“He’s a vampire,” The boy hissed. Vlad’s eyebrow raised.

“Well… yes,” Lisa said, “But—”

Quick as a viper-striking, the boy darted around her and launched himself at Dracula. Just as quickly, the vampire caught him by the scruff of his neck and swung him into the air, held like a disobedient puppy. The boy snarled, trying to slash at Vlad with his knife, but the vampire caught his wrist and held it firmly out of range.

Out of options, the boy sunk his small, blunt teeth into Vlad’s arm where he could reach it. Vlad let him gnaw at porcelain white skin, and cast a glance over to his wife, who was looking a little startled.

“It’s alright, Trevor,” Lisa said, “He wouldn’t hurt you.”

Trevor continued to bite at Vlad’s arm. He left no mark at all, teeth sliding over flesh which was as hard and cold as stone.

“Isn’t that right, Vlad?” Lisa prompted, meaningfully.

“Of course, dear,” Vlad said, holding Trevor like one might hold a rat by it’s tail—out of clawing range, “I won’t hurt Trevor.”

“Right,” Lisa said, “So you can stop trying to bite him now.”

Trevor finally let go of Vlad’s arm, with reluctance. He hung uncomfortably, his skin drained of colour as the exertion took over. Vlad lowered him onto the ground delicately, and, half a second later, released his knife hand too.

Trevor seemed to have decided to trust him as he sheathed his knife, padding back to the bed. He didn’t take his eyes off the vampire, regarding him with a cold kind of suspicion which might have been intimidating if it wasn’t coming out of the face of a battered twelve-year-old.

“Now, let’s have another look at that foot,” Lisa said, pulling up a stool to the foot of the bed. Trevor managed to draw his eyes away from Vlad for long enough to show her his wounded feet, and, while eyes were off him, Vlad disappeared.

Chapter Text

About an hour later, Lisa emerged from her office, switching off the light and closing the door behind her. A pile of washing was in a basket which she rested on her hip. Vlad was waiting for her in the hall, as she has expected.

“Did it go well?” Vlad asked.

“Yes,” Lisa said, “I’ve cleaned and treated his feet, along with his eye. Did you move the castle?”

“I did,” Vlad said, “We can move it back when it is time for him to leave.”

“I don’t think he can be returned to his family,” Lisa said, eyebrows furrowing.

“Why not?” Vlad asked, “It would be the easiest option.”

“I know but… he said he can’t return,” Lisa said, “His wounds—he has old ones too. Knife scars on his chest—it even looks like a whip caught him once. I… don’t think he’d be safe with his family.”

“An orphanage then,” Vlad suggested.

“The church is another hurdle,” Lisa said, “They’re going to hunt him down.”

“The church is not omnipotent,” Vlad said, “I’m sure we can redress him, cut his hair, and give him a new name. They won’t spent forever looking for him.”

“Perhaps,” Lisa said, “We might have to place him somewhere else, however. I don’t think… is something wrong?”

Vlad’s attention had been drawn to the clothes in the hamper. He pulled out a large, fine silk shirt, spreading out the back in his hands. Light shimmered over the gold thread. He ran a clawed thumb over the crest stitched into the back.

“This is a Belmont crest,” Vlad said.

“Yes,” Lisa said, “He mentioned being a Belmont. I suspect that’s why the Church was after him, they—”

“You… knew? You brought a Belmont into our home...” Vlad said, voice threaded with dark notes. Lisa recognised the tone. In the first few years she’d known him, his court-ingrained suspicion of everything and everyone flared up a few times a week. Lisa had never feared her husband, but those episodes were the closest she came to it. She recognised the same accusation in his tone now, although he tempered it as best he could.

“I should have told you,” Lisa said, “But I don’t think—”

“Belmonts hunt vampires,” Vlad insisted, “They’re dangerous. We can’t have him in the castle.”

“He’s a child,” Lisa said, sharply, “Aren’t you supposed to be so powerful? What do you fear him for?”

“And what happens when the rest of the Belmont clan come back for him?!” Vlad said, fangs flashing as he shouted, “The Belmonts are the only things on this earth that have come close to wiping vampires out!”

Lisa took a step back, eyes narrowing. After a moment of silence, Vlad receded a little, regaining his composure, a little shame-faced.

There was a soft noise, inside the office. Lisa paused and turned around, opening the door and peering inside. A pillow had fallen from the bed. She found the light-switch and flipped it on. A bed, the sheets scattered. Empty.

“He’s gone,” Vlad said, voice rough.

“Wait,” Lisa said, “Don’t hurt—” She stopped suddenly, colour draining from her face.

“What is it?” Vlad asked.

“Adrian,” Lisa said, “Check Adrian’s room first.”

Vlad nodded and shot off like a loosed arrow.

He crashed through the corridors and flew up the stairs. He came to his son’s room in barely an instant, cloak unfurling into the room. He took in the scene immediately, long fangs glinting dangerously as they extended.

Put him down!” Vlad demanded taking a step closer. His claws extended, needle sharp.

Trevor backed away until his side hit the room’s wall, knocking over a soft toy which fell soundlessly to the floor. Adrian was bundled up against his chest, still in his sheets with bare feet against the floor, watery blue eyes blinking up at the boy. A knife was drawn, pointed at Vlad.

“Let him go!” Vlad demanded, “Put him down!”

“Stop!” Trevor yelped, pressing himself harder into the wall. The knife shook in his hands, “Don’t come any closer.”

Vlad stopped, rising to his full height. His cloak whipped around him, as if in a storm. “Is this how the Belmonts act now?” Vlad boomed, “Done with honour, are you? Reduced to using children to kidnap children?”

Trevor held Adrian tighter, pointing the knife at Vlad, “I won’t—I won’t let you hurt him!”

“Won’t—...” Vlad snapped, but stopped suddenly, realizing what that implied. His cloak settled down a little and he drew up, peering down at the boy, “I won’t hurt him!”

“I don’t believe you,” Trevor said, voice weak, “V-Vampires kidnap babies! They steal children!”

“That is my child!” Vlad hissed.

Trevor was starting to shake, cracking under the weight of Vlad’s near-palpable anger, “I-I don’t believe you!”

Vlad’s cloak drew closer around him and he tried to temper his anger. Lisa had a way of getting people to cooperate without any sort of threat or even raising her voice, and he tried to invoke that now. He bent his spine so the reduce his towering height.

“Put Adrian back in his bed,” Vlad said, in what he hoped was a comforting tone, “And I won’t rip your throat out.”

Trevor stared up at him, bewildered, and for a moment it looked like he wasn’t going to move. His expression was totally blank. But then, slowly, he pushed off from the wall and staggered towards the bed, keeping as close to the wall and as far away from Vlad as he could. He reached the bed and paused.

“Put him down,” Vlad ordered, voice hard.

Reluctantly, Trevor let Arian down on the bed. The dhampir child looked totally unfazed, blue eyes flicking between his father and the Belmont boy. Just then, Lisa appeared behind him, panting heavily. She managed to catch her breath and came to stand next to her husband.

“Now,” Vlad said, managing something like relief, “How about we talk… Did your parents send you here? How did they locate the castle?”

But Trevor didn’t seem to be listening. His skin was suddenly very pale, and his hands were shaking. He seemed to sag onto himself, clutching at the bed posts.

“Your parents don’t know you’re here, right?” Lisa prompted, gently, “When was the last time you saw them?”

Trevor’s knees gave out, slowly, like a log collapsing on itself. He sat down on the floor, hand still clutching at the bed post. He stared down at the floor, eyes glassy.

“Trevor?” Lisa asked, peering down at him, “Trevor, what’s wrong?”

The dam broke. Trevor began to sob.

This attracted Adrian’s attention, who up until this point had been silently allowing himself to be manhandled. The dhampir wriggled forwards on his belly, poking his head over the end of the bed to peer at Trevor. His golden hair hung over the end of the bed in tight curls.

“What’s wrong?” Lisa asked, kneeling next to the Belmont child. Despite Vlad’s protests, Lisa drew the child into her lap, allowing him to cry on her shoulder. “Hush now. You’re safe.”

Trevor turned and wrapped his arms around Lisa’s shoulders, burying his face in her crook of her neck. Lisa ran a hand down his back soothingly. Trevor seemed to recover, only to begin crying again.

Adrian peered at him, “What’re you crying for?”

Lisa waved her son away, “Go back to sleep, Adrian.”

Adrian wrinkled his nose but obeyed, rolling back into bed.

She lifted Trevor into her arms, until he was half over one of her shoulders and stood up. All the while she cooed at him, trying to comfort him. She padded out of the Adrian’s room, rocking Trevor in her arms like he was a small child.

Vlad followed her out of the room, keeping a distance, as if emotions were contagious. The three of them walked down the long winding stairs, but this time, Lisa led them to the kitchens. It had only been installed when she had moved in, and thus it was small but very clean and new.

Lisa stooped, allowing a sniffling Trevor to slip from her shoulders. He padded to the kitchen table, casting wary glances at Vlad.

“Do you like tea?” Lisa asked.

Trevor glanced at her. He worked his mouth a little, and finally croaked, “Uh… a little.”

“I have black tea, white or green. Which would you prefer?” Lisa asked, pulling ornate boxes from a finely crafted cabinet.

Trevor stared at her blankly.

“I’ll just make you what I’m having,” Lisa said, preoccupying herself with pouring a few careful teaspoons of dried leaves into a pot. She water on to boil.

The kettle whistled. Lisa poured the hot water into the teapot and stirred it. Trevor crossed his ankles under the table, wrapping his arms around himself. It seemed as if every other inch of him was covered in bandages.

Lisa set down the teapot, along with two mugs. She poured them both a cup and set one in front of Trevor.

Trevor pulled it closer, until it rested at the edge of the table, steam curling up to brush his chin.

“Trevor,” Lisa said, leaning over the table to touch the boy’s hand, “I wasn’t joking when I said no harm would come to you. Vlad has already promised not to harm you. He was just scared, that was all.”

Trevor nodded.

Vlad had the unusual, uncomfortable feeling that he had made a mistake. Trevor continued to cast fearful glances at the vampire. Vlad drew back a little. For millennia, he had revelled in having a presence which could strike fear into the heart of any mortal, but now he simply felt a little awkward.

“Now,” Lisa said, after taking a sip of her tea, “I hope we didn’t have to ask, but… we need to know what happened to you.”

Trevor nodded, biting his lip, “I… My family is… gone.”

Vlad blinked, surprised, “All of them? It can’t be. The Belmonts are a Great family.”

Trevor flinched back, a wave of feeling taking him over that threatened tears. Lisa glanced back at her husband with a flat look before turning back to the boy.

“I’m sorry, Trevor,” Lisa said.

“It was the church,” Trevor said, voice surprisingly strong given the tears in his eyes, “We… we were excommunicated, a few months ago. But we couldn’t leave—all our knowledge was stored in the house. We though the church might… reconsider, or something.”

A lump had formed in the boy’s throat and he couldn’t seem to speak any more. He sat in silence for a moment, and took a sip of his tea.

Lisa breathed deeply, massaging her eyes. It looked as if a great weight had settled on her shoulders. “Trevor… I’m so sorry.”

Trevor nodded, minutely.

“You are welcome to stay with us, as long as you need,” Lisa said, “I know you probably can’t think about it now, but we will sort something out.”

Trevor nodded.

“I think we need to go to bed,” Lisa said, standing, “We can talk more in the morning.”

“I want to walk,” Trevor said, standing up. He winced a little as his weight moved onto his stitches, but he managed to stay upright.

“Of course,” Lisa said, biting back complaints about reopening wounds and pulling stitches. She wasn’t surprised when Trevor’s small, bandaged hand found hers. She curled her fingers around his, trying to will some warmth into them.

The pair of them padded to her office, shadowed by the ominous figure of Dracula. Lisa opened the door, flipping on the lights.

“The bathroom is through there,” Lisa pointed to a thin white door beside the cabinet, “And if you need anything there’s a bell beside the bed which will ring for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Trevor croaked. Somewhat reluctantly, he let go of her hand and padded over to the bed.

“Goodnight, Trevor,” Lisa said, as warmly as she could.

Trevor did not respond.

Lisa closed the door quietly. She lingered by the closed door, heart heavy. She rubbed her face, groaning gently.

“Are you alright?” Vlad asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Lisa said, catching her husband’s clawed hand and squeezing, “I really am sorry for not telling you about him being a Belmont.”

“It’s fine,” Vlad said, leading her back up the stairs, “I will admit my own reaction was… immoderate. But you know you could tell me anything, I wouldn’t have gotten angry at you.”

“It’s not that,” Lisa said, “It’s more like… I forget you are a vampire sometimes.”

“Really?” Vlad asked, raising his eyebrows. It sounded a little ludicrous—everything about him screamed vampire, his long fangs, his claws, his cloak. He was Dracula.

They reached the landing and Lisa pulled him onwards, towards their chambers. Her shoes clicked along the stone.

“Not like that. If anyone asked, I would tell then you were a vampire. Intellectually, I always know,” Lisa said, “But in my heart… sometimes, you seem very human to me.”

“I’m not sure if I should take that a compliment or an insult.”

Lisa laughed, “It’s a compliment. Besides, don’t you ever forget I’m human?”

“No,” Dracula said, drawing her a little closer, “Not ever.”

Chapter 3

Notes:

happy new year!

Chapter Text

When Trevor emerged the next morning, Lisa was already dressed and well-rested. Bacon spat and hissed from the frying pan. He could smell toast.

The blonde kid from yesterday, Adrian, was sat at the kitchen table, sipping from a beaten bronze goblet. Dracula had said he was his son, despite the fact they looked almost nothing like each other. But Trevor now saw the refined manner he drank, and the regal way he stuck up his nose at the Belmont, and was sure the vampire had been telling the truth.

“Good morning,” Lisa said.

“Um, Good morning,” Trevor said, startled out of his thoughts.

“Would you like some bacon and toast?” Lisa asked.

“Y-yes please,” Trevor said.

“Oh and Trevor,” Lisa said, setting down her spatula to retrieve a short, knobble walking stick from where it rested against the cabinet, “I think it would be best if you used this to take the weight from your bad foot.”

“Thank you,” Trevor said, using it to hobble to the kitchen table and sat down opposite Adrian.

Adrian regarded him sourly from under long, pale lashes. He was almost half Trevor’s height and had chubby, round cheeks which did not match his gaze.

“How old are you, anyway?” Trevor asked, narrowing his eyes.

Adrian took a long draught from his goblet, “One hundred and five.”

Trevor’s eyes widened.

“He’s eight,” Lisa said, setting down a plate of bacon in front of Trevor, followed by a plate of buttered toast. She turned back to the stove.

“But I age fast,” Adrian insisted, “I could read by four.”

“That’s only a year before normal,” Trevor said, taking a bite of his toast, “That’s not that unusual.”

“I was reading ancient texts and studying mathematics,” Adrian said, “I had already started designing—”

“That just means by eighteen you’ll be a doddery old man,” Trevor said, waving a hand.

Adrian narrowed his eyes. With his curly golden hair and bright, cold blue eyes, he looked like a cruel cherub. “At least I’m not a crybaby,” He hissed.

There was a crack of wood connecting with bone and Lisa spun around to see Trevor, with his walking stick still raised and Adrian, who was clutching his head.

“Enough!” Lisa snapped.

Both boys shrunk back from each other, Trevor setting his walking stick back on the ground sheepishly.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” Lisa snapped, “There’s no need to be so violent! Both of you, go to your rooms right now!”

Adrian rubbed his head hotly, “But I didn’t—”

“You provoked him,” Lisa snapped, “Now go! I don’t want to see either of you until you’ve thought about what you’ve done.”

Both boys slunk off, embarrassed and slightly put out.

 

*

 

It had been wishful thinking, to believe that might be the last of it.

Later in the day, Adrian sneaked out of his room and Trevor out of his and they boxed like march hares until Lisa, drawn by the shouting and swearing, appeared to drag them apart again. This happened again in the long corridors of the observatory, and again in the higher towers.

The fourth time it happened, it happened in Dracula’s library.

“Both of you! Out!” Lisa bellowed, her temper fraying, “Trevor, go to my office—Adrian you’re not allowed in any of the lower levels until tomorrow!”

As both boys were retreating, Vlad peeked out from behind a bookcase, “Is something wrong?”

“You were here the whole time?” Lisa snapped, “Why didn’t you stop them?!”

“They were only fighting,” Vlad said, watching Trevor close the door behind him as he left.

“What do you mean,” Lisa said, darkly, “‘Only fighting’?”

Vlad set the book he was reading down and closed it, “Is conflict not normal among humans that age?”

“No,” Lisa said, and paused, “Well… maybe Trevor’s age, but Adrian is far too young and Trevor is not healthy enough. And anyway, it’s not to be done in the home.”

“Ah,” Vlad said, “It’s not the same with Vampires. There’s a tradition of newly turned vampires being brought together, so they can learn combat by skirmishing.”

Lisa frowned, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Vlad smiled, his long teeth glinting.

“Honestly, they’re fighting like rats in a pit,” Lisa said, sourly, “Every time I turn my back they’re at it again.”

“It might be worth trying to find a new place for the young man soon,” Vlad said, “I know of a monastery in Gaul that has a good reputation for housing orphans. I could take him there.”

“You? In a house of God?” Lisa glanced at him.

Vlad smiled, “In disguise, of course.”

Lisa smiled back, but it faded, “I just wish they wouldn’t fight so much.”

“It’s a Belmont and a creature of the night, darling,” Vlad said, “If they got along, it would be a miracle. I’m not sure even you could manage it.”

Lisa pressed her fingers to her lips, eyes squinted as she thought, “Actually… I have an idea.”

 

*

 

The two tussling boys were summoned from their rooms and brought down to the main hall. Still wounded from Lisa raising her voice at them earlier, they stood as far apart from each other as they could, stubbornly not looking at the other boy.

“Alright,” Lisa said, facing both of them. She was dressed in her outdoor wear, a baggy outfit made from sac-like material. “I need a favour from both of you.”

They said nothing. Finally, Trevor nodded, and Adrian followed suit. Lisa raised an eyebrow. Perhaps this was going to be harder than she’d thought. She powered on regardless.

“I need about five types of herbs collected for my medicines,” Lisa said, pulling a thin, scruffy-looking spiral bound book from her bag, “But I want you to work together. Trevor can use the book, and Adrian will be picking the plants. So for you, Adrian, Trevor isn’t allow to show you the pictures, so you have to work off his descriptions. And Adrian—” Lisa broke, off frowning.

Adrian regarded his mother with a golden, cherubim smile.

“Be nice,” Lisa finished.

Trevor snorted, and Adrian shot him a sharp look. Lisa saw the venom in his glare and pursed her lips.

“I’ll be close,” Lisa said, “If anything serious happens, then you come and find me, alright?”

There was a silence.

“Perhaps you misheard me,” Lisa said, raising her voice a fraction, “I asked if that was alright?”

“It’s alright,” Adrian said, like a reflex.

Trevor took a little longer, “It’s the least I can do.”

“Good,” Lisa said, “Well, I’ll be somewhere between the plateau and the stream, just shout for me if you need me. Make sure you don’t go too far, and if it gets too dark there’s a torch in Trevor’s pack you can use.”

Adrian nodded and turned on his heel, stalking out of the castle and taking the stairs three at a time. Trevor limped after him like a wounded cat. She watched as he finally eased himself onto the earth, Adrian already far ahead, having not waited or even turned to see if he was following.

Lisa sighed and began to descend.

It went against her instincts, to leave them alone when she knew they would fight. But that was necessary, sometimes. It was clear that a battle was needed between them—like tomcats fighting for territory, they would always claw at each other until someone won for good.

She watched Trevor limp after her son. All she could hope was that there was enough left to patch up after it was decided.

 

*

 

“Describe it again,” Adrian asked, crouching at the foot of a tree. He yanked at the grass there, pulling it out and scattering it on the patchy earth.

“Are you going to listen this time?”

“Don’t be smart. It doesn’t suit you.”

“It’s leaves have three dark green prongs. It’s got a furry yellow-green stalk. We’ve passed a whole cluster of them already.”

Adrian sent him a withering look and set off again.

Trevor hobbled after Adrian, who refused to slow down. The earth was soft and spongey underneath them, and his stick sunk into the earth and had to be wiggled out with every step.

Adrian broke through the last line of trees and skidded down the steep bank to the riverside. The landscape here was much rockier, the earth sinking between harsh grey rocks. The water was an opaque, dark brown, swirling over the shallow river bed. He knelt, peering at the stubble of small plants that lined the sticky earth.

There was a sound behind him, a strangled yelp and the sound of something soft hitting rock.

Adrian watched the path behind him. There was no movement.

“Trevor?” Adrian asked.

No reply.

Adrian eased himself to his feet, and padded cautiously back up the soft earth path. His eyes scanned the undergrowth, but he saw nothing except moss and rotting logs. When he passed the line of trees, he saw only the shallow fall of the hill, the scatterings of old trees.

“Trevor?” Adrian asked again, a little louder.

There was a muffled sound.

Adrian whipped around, ears pricked. When the sound came again, he located its source. A small cave opened under the rocks, the earth around it bright enough to suggest it was new. Light couldn’t penetrate its depths.

Cautiously, he approached it, peering inside. “Trevor?” He asked.

There was a thick intake of breath, followed by a sigh.

“Are you hurt?” Adrian asked.

“M—my leg,” Trevor’s voice floated up from the mouth of the cave.

“Don’t move,” Adrian said, straightening up, “I’ll go get—”

“No!” Trevor yelped.

Adrian scowled, “Look, Trevor—”

“Listen, Adrian,” Trevor snapped, “I’m not—there’s something in here with me.”

Adrian froze. His blood ran cold.

As if drawn by the noise, he heard the something. A hushing, low and snakelike. The brush of scales on stone.

“What is it?” Adrian asked.

“Not sure.” There was a noise, Trevor shifting his weight. He hissed in pain.

Adrian glanced between the mouth of the cave and the fields behind them. Lisa was at least a mile away, and she wouldn’t be able to do much except call her husband. If Vlad was out on business, it could take hours. He heard the shift of the creature again.

“I’m coming in,” Adrian decided, sounding a lot more confident than he felt.

“Wait,” Trevor protested, but Adrian was already shimmying into the cave.

Even though the mouth of the cave opened up, Adrian still had to bend his head. He yanked his lamp from his pack, flipping a switch to start the motor. A white glow filled the cave.

The creature was revealed in white and grey. It was a shifting mass, a long, snakelike body with a five sets of short, birdlike legs along its length. It head looked like a ram’s, with stubby tusks that looked snapped off at the end.

“You absolute moron,” Trevor snarled, “Now we’re both—”

The creature cut him off with a growl almost like a warm chuckle. Its yellow slit eyes seemed to look at both of them at the same time. Trevor seemed to sag, losing his scowl, eyes wide.

Adrian knelt, “It’s not my fault that—!”

“I know,” Trevor interrupted, “I shouldn’t have snapped. Sorry.”

Adrian blinked at him, bewildered. He stared at Trevor like he had grown another head.

Trevor shuffled his arms out of his pack, “Would you be so kind as to light a fire? It only has to be a small one.”

“Sure,” Adrian said, flatly. He eyed Trevor as he pulled a few stalks of kindling from his pack and snapped them to length before he arranged them in a small pyramid. He lit it.

The fire seemed to have an effect on the creature. It turned its head, focus on the warm flames.

“Come sit with us,” Trevor said, “We’ll share our food with a weary traveller.”

Adrian was confused—until he realised Trevor wasn’t talking to him. “Did you hit your fucking head too hard, Belmont?”

“No, but thanks for asking,” Trevor said, a sharpness in his voice, “I feel perfectly fine.”

The creature approached, long claws clicking on the stone. Its head seemed too large for its body, swinging as it walked. Adrian tensed, waiting for it to strike, but it only rested at the edge of the fire, top-heavy head hanging over the flames.

“Are you hungry?” Trevor asked, “We will share all we have with you.”

The creature grumbled sourly.

“We will?” Adrian asked.

Trevor ignored him, pulling his sack open and retrieving a hunk of dry meat, he split it three ways and passed one to Adrian. He held another piece out to the creature and it raised one viciously clawed paw to take it from him.

The creature did not attack, but was far from acting tame. There was a terrible, restrained violence in the animal, muscles tensed to pounce. But, for whatever reason, it didn’t.

“Have my piece too,” Trevor said, pressing his chunk of meat into the creature’s paw. It accepted reluctantly.

Adrian glanced between the Belmont and the monster, “Mine too.” The creature accepted his with a grunt, snapping up all the meat in its impressive, long jaws. Trevor shot him a sly smile, a look in his eye like they were sharing a private joke.

“Do you have any mead you’d be willing to share, Adrian?” Trevor asked, voice unnaturally soft.

“Anything I have is yours,” Adrian mimicked his tone, pulling his flask from his pack. They didn’t have three cups, so the two they poured they handed straight to the creature.

The creature let out a soft whimper, like it was in pain. And—Adrian only saw it because he was looking at the right time—its back legs drew up into itself, and its tail shrunk an inch.

“I appreciate the help you’ve given me this evening,” Trevor said, “I appreciate your patience, it must have been difficult to slow down for me.” It was thinly veiled passive-aggressiveness, but apparently the creature couldn’t detect sarcasm, and shrunk a little more.

Adrian shot him a sour smile, “And thank you for being so candid with your comments.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Trevor said.

The creature grumbled in the pause in conversation, grinding its tusks together. Trevor opened his pack, searching for more food. At this rate, they would run out before the creature was much smaller.

“I’m impressed by your vivacity,” Adrian said, “Despite your injuries.”

Trevor looked at him blankly.

“Vivacity means liveliness,” Adrian said.

“I’m impressed by your vocabulary,” Trevor said, “It certainly doesn’t sound strange coming out of a five-year-old, it very much suits you.”

“I’m eight,” Adrian snapped.

The creature raised its head, one eye boring into Adrian’s. He returned the gaze flatly. So the dumb animal responded to tone, if not subtext.

“Excuse me,” Adrian said, forcing his voice to be placid again.

“You’re forgiven,” Trevor said, “I surely don’t mind spending an extra hour here redoing all the work you’ve undone.”

Adrian ground his teeth together. Trevor was surprisingly good at being rude and sounding like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“I like your whip,” Adrian ground out.

“I’ll teach you how to use it, someday,” Trevor said, offhandedly.

“I’d like that.”

“Although, of course,” Trevor said, “You’d have to cut your hair. It’s far too long at the moment and I’d hate to have you rip out all those lovely golden locks if you make the wrong move.”

Adrian rolled his eyes.

The creature had shrunk again while they were talking, and it looked like they finally making some progress. Adrian pulled out the herbs he had, and offered them around, before they ended up in the creature’s mouth. It didn’t seem to matter what they were offering, so long as they played the part. They talked. Trevor broke up a piece of very stale bread. They talked more.

Adrian gradually found it easier to be polite. Although it grated on him to be nice to the Belmont, he tried to imagine he was talking to his father or his mother, and kept his tone formal. Eventually he fell into a rhythm, making up qualities the complement him on, playing nice and assigning him all sorts of wonderful, random traits. They stoked the fire, keeping it going with every bit of wood they had.

Trevor continued to be a master of sly politeness, but after what felt like an hour, Adrian could see him start to wither. He had begun shivering. There was a small patch of ground water near the edges of the cave, which Trevor must have been sitting in for a long while now. The air in the cave grew cold enough to see the white clouds of their breath.

The creature had shrunk to the size of a house-cat, tail curling and uncurling in a restrained fury.

“Water?” Trevor asked, pulling out a water-skin.

“Thank you,” Adrian reached over the flames to take the skin from him. He drunk deeply and moved to hand it to the creature.

“Please, feel free finish it,” Trevor said.

Adrian brought the water-skin to his lips, “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Trevor said, “What’s mine is yours.”

The creature gave a defeated grumble, halving in size.

“Are you alright?” Adrian asked, swallowing the last bit of water.

“I’m fine,” Trevor said. His face was colourless and shiny, “Just a little cold. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” Adrian asked, raising an eyebrow. The creature whimpered.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Trevor said, “We have to do this first.”

“It’s alright to stop,” Adrian said, “I can take over.”

“Thank you, but we’re almost there,” Trevor said.

The creature groaned, high and long. It was about the size of a shrew, perfect in miniature.

“Wow, you’re so small,” Trevor said, pointedly, “You could fit in the water-skin.”

The creature let out another groan, rolling on the floor.

Adrian snatched the creature up. It writhed between his fingers, growing, needle-claws breaking his skin, but he didn’t hesitate, shoving into the water-skin and screwing the lid shut. It began to expand inside the water-skin, bulging as its claws broke the leather.

“The fire!” Trevor snapped, “In the fire!”

Adrian dropped it into the flames. It went up like kindling, the skin catching immediately. A burst of heat filled the cave, the flames white and blisteringly hot. The rush of flames was like a falling star. The dying screams of the creature were ear-splitting.

And then it went out.

Darkness was sudden and absolute. Adrian fumbled for his lantern, which he had turned off to save power. It flicked on, and he blinked his eyes until he got used to the grey gloom.

“Trevor?” Adrian asked.

Trevor shifted, “Still alive.”

Adrian kicked through the dying embers of the fire.

“Save... the skeleton,” Trevor huffed, “Your mother might want it, it’s…. used in some medicines.”

Adrian peered down at the dusty firepit, and picked out the mangled remains of the water-skin, tucking it into his backpack.

“How is your leg?” Adrian asked, “Do you need any help?”

“It’s fine,” Trevor said, unconvincingly.

“You can tell me,” Adrian said.

“The creature’s dead,” Trevor said, “You don’t have to be nice any more.”

Adrian narrowed his eyes. He shuffled his backpack onto one shoulder, and scooped up Trevor’s backpack to sling over the other shoulder. Then, he stooped and lifted Trevor up as gently as he could.

Trevor swore loudly.

“If you told me where you were hurt this wouldn’t be so bad,” Adrian grumbled.

“How can you even carry me?” Trevor growled.

“I have superhuman strength.”

Trevor squeezed his eyes shut, “I should have let the Dumag eat you.”

Adrian said nothing, dropping the lantern into Trevor’s lap and trying to locate the exit. It was very difficult to move when he was this laden with things. He set the bags down briefly, and found the mouth of the cave.

It was a steep fall from ground level, far easier to fall in than climb out. Adrian set Trevor down and attacked the mouth of the cave, pulling away soft earth to widen the hole. Then, as gently as he could, he lifted Trevor with both hands and tossed him the short distance to the hillside. Trevor let out a sharp cry of pain as he landed, and Adrian winced.

After retrieving the bags and strapping them all safely to his back, Adrian scrambled out of the cave after him.

Night had fallen in their absence. The sky was a deep, velvet blue-black, studded with stars. The moon, like a hole punched through the heavens, glowed like the lantern hanging from his teeth. Adrian stooped and lifted the Belmont into his arms.

“You’re not really tall enough to carry me,” Trevor gasped. He was right. His arms and legs bumped against the grass.

Adrian couldn’t respond with the handle of the lantern in his mouth. He only shot him a withering look and padded towards the castle, which was silhouetted on the horizon, dark as a distant mountain.

He walked, feeling like a pack horse.

“That was a Dumag,” Trevor said, between gasps, “They feed off negativity…. We should go back there tomorrow, they’re often... put there to guard treasures.”

Adrian shifted the handle in his mouth. It tasted of old iron. He couldn’t say it, but he doubted Trevor would be going anywhere tomorrow, with the state of his leg. Blood was dribbling from the boy’s heel onto the foliage they passed.

Trevor seemed to be done with talking. He leaned his head back, eyes fixed on the moon.

Adrian rearranged his grip on Trevor. It was hard to walk carry such weight, he had to constantly lean back. Going up the hillside was hard, with the packs and the weight. He walked sideways, shuffling through the undergrowth to avoid trees or rocks.

The night had silenced the land. Adrian didn’t even hear a mouse stirring, or a snake. Only his own noise, and the raspy breathing of the Belmont. Morning dew had already formed frost on the earth, and grass crunched underfoot.

Trevor’s eyes had drifted shut while he walked. His face was a pale moon. For a moment, a cold feeling flooded Adrian’s system and he resisted the urge to shake him awake, and settled for checking the boy’s pulse instead.

It felt like they were walking for an age, the land stretching out under them. Vlad had talked to Adrian about pocket dimensions before, how they could be crafted to roll on and on for eternity, so someone could walk in one direction for years and only end up where they had begun, over and over in a loop. Adrian tensed.

Suddenly, light burst through the trees ahead.

Adrian stumbled back, sitting heavily on a rock. The light burned into his eyes, and he flinched away.

“Adrian?” Lisa lowered the lantern, “I was so worried!”

“Trevor’s hurt,” Adrian said, dropping his lantern.

She noticed the boy in his arms and stooped in front of him, pressing a hand to Trevor’s cheek, “He’s cold. Is he responding?”

“I don’t know,” Adrian said.

Lisa slapped Trevor’s cheek lightly, “Can you hear me, Trevor?”

Trevor’s eyes opened and stared up at her blearily. He blinked slowly.

“That’s good,” Lisa said, voice warm, “Can you stay awake for me, Trevor? Could you do that for me?”

Trevor blinked at her.

“Let me carry him,” Lisa said, “We have to get him into the castle quickly.”

Adrian let his mother take the Belmont, and it was a mark of how gone Trevor was that he didn’t protest the jostling. She set off quickly towards the castle, not quite running but jogging as smoothly as she could.

With his mother by his side, the distance to the castle seemed a lot shorter. The two of them make the journey in short time, Lisa leaping up the stairs two at a time.

When they were both in the castle’s bright light, Adrian saw Trevor’s leg clearly for the first time. He looked away. Lisa’s coat was spotted with dark blood.

“I’m going to take him to my office,” Lisa said, walking away, “He’ll be fine. You can go to bed, Adrian.”

Adrian stood, rooted to the spot. His backs weighed him down.

Lisa glanced back at her son, “Don’t worry. You did well.”

Adrian swallowed thickly and nodded. He watched his mother disappear, and he was alone in the great hall. After what felt like an age, he worked up the energy to pad up the stairs to his room.

Chapter 4

Notes:

hello. First, Happy new year :) again :) because another year has come & gone
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Remember this fic? I just did >:) all jokes aside, thank you so much for all the lovely comments, i read every one and i love you all!!

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╰(⇀︿⇀)つ-]═───

Chapter Text

The next day, Adrian’s suspicions were validated. He ate his breakfast alone. His mother was quiet, but not overly gloomy, which Adrian knew better than to take as an especially good sign. Lisa had treated too many patients to be overwhelmed by a bad turn.

Adrian breached the office later that morning, cracking open the heavy wooden door. The air smelled acutely of turpentine, thin and sharp. Adrian poked his head around the door.

Trevor was bundled in thick blankets, his hands poking out of the sides and hanging limply off the sides of the bed. His head was obscured with a thick cloth, and his skin, where it was visible, was a sick, sallow yellow. The castings on his leg made a mountain out of the foot of his bed.

Adrian stepped closer, “Are you awake?”

“’ck off,” Trevor muttered darkly.

“Need anything?”

“Not really,” Trevor said thickly. He lifted a heavy arm and unfolded and refolded the wet wash-cloth on his forehead.

Adrian shifted his weight from foot to foot. He had the strange urge to chew on his sleeve, something he had not done since he was very small. He scowled. While he knew his mother wouldn’t have left anything needing doing, he still felt like he should be doing something, anything.

“Did you want something?” Trevor asked, and his voice had a strange, breathless quality, “Or are you just here... to b’ther me?”

“Just to bother you,” Adrian said, but he left anyway, closing the door softly behind him.

 

*

 

Vlad didn’t seem at all concerned. He continued to talk animatedly on history, the arts, chemistry, biology and even a foray into ancient politics. As always, his lectures wound from one subject to the other, occasionally forgetting to fully explain the complex mechanics of each subject. Still, he was a good professor, which a knowledge more expansive than most libraries, and a simple, concise teaching style.

Adrian sat through his lessons, fidgeting and easily distractible. For a while Vlad didn’t seem to notice—occasionally it seemed to Adrian that Vlad mostly talked to himself, and a student was only a useful reminder of the things he already knew—but eventually Vlad stopped talking, and it was a long moment before Adrian noticed the silence. He looked up guiltily.

“Are you not feeling well?” Vlad said, lowering the book he was holding.

“I feel fine,” Adrian said.

Vlad regarded him severely.

Adrian shifted under the gaze.

“The Belmont is in good hands,” Vlad said.

“But he’s got lots of injuries,” Adrian protested, “Mother said he might get sick from last night, too. Also he’s too thin, so he’s not strong enough to fight it off.”

“We’ll do all we can,” Vlad said.

“But what if he dies?” Adrian blurted out.

“Then he dies,” Vlad said casually, and rested the spine of the book he had open on the corner of the desk, “That is the fate of all mortals.”

Adrian felt like all the air had left his chest. His head span and a weight sank in him, like a swallowed black stone. He leaned heavily on the desk; his knees suddenly weak.

“But—but,” Adrian felt very much like crying, “But mother’s—mother’s a mortal...”

Vlad swallowed thickly, “Adrian—”

But Adrian had vanished, the library door slamming shut after him. Vlad watched him, a heavy feeling in his shoulders. Lisa was not going to like that.

 

*

 

Lisa glanced up when she saw a pair of blue eyes peek over her laboratory table. Adrian rested his chin between a small corked vial of clear hydrochloric acid and an open jar of power-white calcium carbonate. Lisa leaned over the table and cleared the compounds away from her son, setting them back in their racks, so he could rest his elbows on the table.

Adrian looked miserable. He wasn’t quite crying, but his eyes were wet, and his shoulders were slumped.

“What’s wrong?” Lisa asked.

Adrian watched his mother add ashy black clumps of activated charcoal to whatever was bubbling in the basin. The reaction sputtered and stopped, giving off one last huff of pale gas, like a sigh.

“Is Belmont…?” Adrian shifted closer, “Is he going to be alright?”

“Oh Adrian,” Lisa said, sadly. She put her attention into clearing the rest of the table, wiping the spilled carbonate up and stacking up ceramic dishes, “Trevor is very strong. And he’s got youth with him—I doubt the leg will take more than a month to heal.”

“But the sickness,” Adrian insisted, “The fever.”

“He’s been fighting a long time,” Lisa said, “Why should we think he’ll stop now?”

“He’s mortal,” Adrian said, averting his eyes, “Father says all mortals will die. So it’s only me and him that won’t.”

Lisa’s lips formed a thin line. She would have to thank Vlad later for making her have an existentialist conversation with an eight-year-old before lunch.

“To tell the truth,” Lisa said, “You and your father aren’t going to live forever. You two won’t get old or sick but even Dracula will die of something. There was a time before him, and there will be a time after.”

“Really?” Adrian frowned, pale eyebrows knitting together.

“Really,” Lisa said, “All things will die. Some things age and wither, some are cut short before they get to that point. But Adrian, that’s what makes life worth something. When someone chooses to be with you, they are giving you their time, something they don’t have a lot of.”

“Alright,” Adrian said, folding his hands together, “I don’t—I don’t like it. I don’t like thinking about it.”

Lisa smiled, “That’s alright. You’re young.”

“I don’t want Belmont to die,” Adrian said, almost guiltily, “I want him to show me how to use his whip.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow. She didn’t think Vlad would like Adrian using a Belmont whip around the castle, especially one that, he’d told her, had been purified in holy water. But now probably wasn’t the time.

“Neither do I, Adrian,” Lisa said, “He’s been pretty lucky so far. But we really can’t know.”

“Okay,” Adrian conceded, “Okay.”

 

*

 

Adrian didn’t return to his lessons that afternoon. Instead he prowled, restless and lonely, through the long expansive corridors of the castle. He clattered over the metal mesh deep in the basement, the red light of the furnaces reflected in a sheen over his silk cloak. He weaved through the library, dust thick in the air, the shelves as still as the stars. He reached the peaks of the castle turrets and breathed in the icy, unforgiving breath. The castle was so tall that the air at the turrets was uncomfortably thin. The night was dark.

 

*

 

Trevor was breathing heavily when Adrian opened the door the check on him. His breathe came out as thick gasps, heavy with sickness. Belmont didn’t notice him approach. Heat radiated off him like a furnace.

Adrian could tell Lisa had just visited—the sheets were changed, and the washcloth was damp again. Trevor’s eyes moved behind his closed eyelids, flickering. His hair was plastered to his skull in sodden curls. It was a sharp reminder of just how different Trevor looked when he wasn’t moving and talking—asleep, without animation, he looked like a corpse. His eye sockets were dark, his skin bone white.

Adrian closed the door on his way out.

 

*

 

It took another week for Trevor’s fever to broke.

By that time, the valley had warmed a little. The air in the morning was still unwelcomingly cold, but by mid-afternoon the chill had receded enough for Lisa to leave her cloaks on the backs of chairs and draped over the regal bannisters.

Adrian had been poking around the kitchen for food when he had heard voices from his mother’s office. Trevor’s voice.

“You can relax a little, young man,” Lisa admonished, warmly, “There’s no rush.”

Trevor grumbled, “S’fine.”

Adrian pushed the heavy door all the way open and stepped into the room.

The light in the room was dim, but Adrian had good eyes. Trevor was sitting up in bed, his bad leg sticking at an awkward right-angle from his hip while his good one was folded under him. Blankets were strewn around him like a nest of quilt. Lisa sat at his bedside, surrounded with her tinctures and pastes, which she was in the process of applying to Trevor’s head, chest and arms.

“You’re alive,” Adrian muttered, pale eyebrows drawing together in an expression which Lisa knew to be concern but Trevor assumed was annoyance.

“You’re observant,” Trevor frowned back at him, “Got any more enlightening bits of wisdom to share with us?”

“You look like shit,” Adrian said, flatly.

Trevor barked with hoarse laughter. Lisa clucked with admonishment.

It was true, though. Trevor’s bruises had ripened to thick swellings on his arms and legs and developed an unattractive yellow tinge like dry vomit. He still had a greenish undertone; his skin was still shiny with sweat. Lisa had cut his hair back, but it was still long enough to stick to his temples. Inflamed scabs littered his thin arms, some dark, some uncomfortably red.

Adrian approached the end of the bed. The room was still warm, the furnace crackling in the corner. The heat combined with the smell of medicine gave the air a heavy feel, and Adrian could imagine it swirling in a wake where his movement parted it.

“How do you feel?” Lisa asked, sitting back.

A thick crust of herbal paste covered Trevor’s chest. It was dry enough for the cracks to open and close across his sternum when he sighed. Every breath had a thick rattle to it. Trevor said, “Amazing.”

 

*

 

From then on, Trevor wasn’t such a good patient.

For one, after his cast was removed, he kept trying to escape.

Lisa usually caught on to these fairly quickly. She could usually tell—something around his eyes, something in the hesitant nature to his movements when he ate breakfast—that he was about to bolt. This drove Trevor nuts. Lisa was a much better actor than him, and no matter how distracted or careless she seemed in the morning, she was always waiting for him when he limped into the kitchen. She was there even when Trevor thought he heard the door close and the retreating footsteps. You didn’t get to the be Dracula’s wife, he supposed, without being sharp as a tack.

So Trevor took a different approach.

He waited until late afternoon to decide whether to try to escape. This seemed like it would be enough to escape her notice, and Lisa usually spent the afternoons foraging for fresh herbs. That meant she was far enough from the castle that he could get through the double doors, down the steps and find a path to the nearest town. He thought he’d seen one the last time he was out. From there he’d figure something out—he’d spent a few nights in a workhouse, or steal some food, or find one of the other noble houses.

It seemed like a good plan to Trevor.

So, he waited. The afternoon took a maddeningly long time to arrive. The hours were long and warm, the sunlight a dusky yellow across his room all day. After lunch, he waited another hour, giving Lisa enough time to disappear into the thick forest, before Trevor threw the covers from his legs and stood.

His legs were still weak, so he gave himself enough time to steady before he began to creep, silent as a shadow, across the room. He shuffled into the leather slippers Lisa had left him (they were better than nothing, and he could get better shoes at the town) and reached the door handle. He turned it, slowly, slowly, so he could open the door soundlessly.

Trevor paused, hand still on the door handle. Every muscle in his body froze and he stared, wide-eyed. He hardly dared to breath.

Dracula sat with his papers spread out before him on the kitchen table. His long fangs glinted wolfishly as he drew back his lips into a smile. His long claws touched the wood of the table, and even the lightest touch was enough to pierce the surface. They were that sharp.

Trevor shrunk back into his room, closing the door behind him. Just before he closed it, he heard Vlad say: “Good choice.”

 

*

 

Adrian visited him often.

Trevor always drew his blankets up around him for the dhampir’s visit—it allowed him to peer disdainfully down at the boy from over the soft folds. Adrian did not seem to notice his attention to detail.

Trevor did not know how he had ever seen Adrian as helpless. The boy looked sweet and innocent, his cheeks cherubic and rosy, his hair in perfect golden ringlets, but when he talked his voice was crisp and sharp as a blade. Adrian wanted to talk to him about war. In particular, Adrian wanted to talk about current wars, wars in a world which Dracula had turned his eyes away from. Trevor had thought he knew a lot about the current state of politics—but his knowledge had disappointed the young dhampir. Adrian wanted to know the battle formations, the genius manoeuvres, but Trevor only knew about the costs, the numbers dead, the lands razed.

In turn, Adrian taught him about ancient philosophies and cultures. This Trevor found beyond dull—but he did not have much choice in entertainment, it was this or another few hours staring at the wall or at one of the terrible dense books Lisa left on his bedside. And besides, despite himself, Trevor was starting to… tolerate, the little blonde monster.

For a long week, Trevor did not try to escape. This was another part of his plan. He needed to lull them into a false sense of security.

Trevor was not dumb enough to think that this ploy alone would work. It would take more than one week to get Dracula to lower his guard—Trevor suspected he could try playing the perfect patient for a century and still not catch him out. But Trevor had another secret. Every night Lisa gave him a small dose of laudanum to help him sleep, and every night Trevor obediently slept. Except that Trevor already had a high tolerance for sedatives and he had extensive training in shaking off the effects of drugs.

So, under the cover of night on the eight day, Trevor slipped out from under the covers and dressed in all the spare clothes Lisa had left in the closet. The leather slippers were not enough to keep the chill of the night out.

The castle was dark.

It was quiet as a grave. Trevor’s neck prickled with every accidental noise he made, every creak of his slippers. He took a long time to close the kitchen door behind him. Vlad slept with his wife, in the furthest end of the castle, but Trevor knew enough to know that wasn’t a guarantee. He walked across the icy marble.

In the dark, the castle seemed less cavernous. In fact, it seemed close in on him, the walls tight and the ceiling leering down on him. Trevor breathed thinly. His weak leg spasmed with pain and he paused, tense, until the pain passed.

Opening the door was the hardest part. It was heavy, heavier than he remembered. As it shifted, silent but reluctant, moonlight broke through the door, followed by a rush of icy breeze. Trevor tightening his jaw to stop his teeth chattering, tight enough for the enamel to squeak.

He slipped out, into the night.

At the bottom of the punishingly steep stairs, crunchy grass greeted him. After months of confinement, the openness of the valley was startling. The moon hung heavy and swollen in the crisp night.

In fact—Trevor stared around him. He didn’t recognise the snow-peaked mountains which closed around the back of the castle like the teeth in a predator’s jaw. He didn’t recognise the long, reddish grass which nearly reached his knees, or the white boulders which gleamed dimly like pearls under the canopies of unfamiliar trees.

The castle had moved. He remembered—vaguely—that it could do that. He gritted his teeth and padded through the thick brush, ignoring the twinge of pain in his ribs. The trees were gnarled and old, and the undergrowth unfamiliar. He wouldn’t be able to forage. Was there even a town nearby? He could see no sign of it. He might not even speak the language if there was.

“Nice night,” Adrian said behind him, his voice travelling well in the silent air.

Trevor rounded on him. Adrian sat on the bottom step of the castle; his feet buried in the thick grass. His cloak shimmered in the moonlight. Trevor wanted to be angry but couldn’t find any energy. Instead he just looked at him flatly.

“How did you know I was out here?” Trevor asked, “Did you hear me?”

“No,” Adrian said, “I went to check on you and you weren’t there.”

“Check on me?” Trevor echoed, “You do that? You don’t wake me up.”

“Of course I don’t,” Adrian said, “I’m not as clumsy as you are.”

Trevor didn’t dignify that with a response, instead massaged a twinge in his side. The air was so cold it felt like it was slowing down his mind.

Adrian leaned on the palm of his hand. There was something about him which reminded Trevor of a hunting thing, some kind of hunger. Adrian asked, “Why do you keep trying to escape?”

“I can’t stay here forever,” Trevor snorted.

“Of course you can’t,” Adrian watched him. In the dark, his eyes looked black, “Some day you’ll die.”

“That’s comforting,” Trevor took a step back and the shadow of a tree fell over him, “I’m actually trying to get out before that happens. I don’t really want to end up as your father’s dinner.

Adrian continued to watch him. There was something unnervingly owlish about him sometimes, those heavy eyes set into such a small face.

“That’s what you think is happening,” Adrian said, finally.

Trevor took another few steps back, slipping past the old tree. Swallowing thickly, he turned and started to walk through the dark forest. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see a town—he’d see better in the morning. And dying as a human in the forest was far more preferable to the shrivelled, reduced thing a vampire would turn him into.

A crackle of dry grass behind him told him he was followed, but Trevor didn’t look back. He continued into the dark undergrowth. His heart beat hard. He almost expected to feel the punch of teeth sinking into his neck.

Trevor touched the side of his throat. His skin was warm.

Foxes chattered in the undergrowth. He breathed shallowly.

“If we were going to eat you,” the dhampir asked, “why are you still alive?”

Trevor didn’t turn around. The last thing he needed was to meet Adrian’s eye. He pushed branches aside, the uncomfortable press of the leaves like a light shove.

“So my blood won’t be feverish,” Trevor said, shallowly, “So I’ll be a prime piece of meat.”

“Prime,” Adrian echoed.

“Prime,” Trevor’s feet found the top of a root, his legs shaking slightly as he shifted to his bad leg. Mud was soaking through his slippers and threatened to knock one loose, “Ripe.”

Unseen, night animals shifted around them. Trevor’s steps scattered field mice, set birds bursting from the trees. He had to walk uncomfortably slowly, to avoid tripping on the complicated maze of roots.

Trevor thought about the pictures and descriptions his uncles and aunts had shared with him. Emaciated bodies, hollow ribs, shrunken eyes, veins sucked entirely dry. He thought of jaws so powerful that they left deep gouges on vertebrae. Fangs like knives, sharper than a razor. It was enough to turn his stomach.

A hand closed around his elbow.

Trevor’s stomach felt sick and hollow. He stopped, but every muscle in him screamed at him to move. It felt like there was a storm in him.

“Father won’t eat you,” Adrian said, voice steady and calm.

Trevor’s eyes sealed, muscles tense. Fear permeated every inch of him. He was sick, and wounded, and utterly, desperately human.

As if reading his mind, Adrian released his arm and took several steps back, grass crunching under him. “And I’m not going to eat you either,” he said quickly, “Nor mother.”

Trevor wanted to laugh. He hadn’t even considered the mother—but she was married to Dracula, wasn’t she? And it had been humans which had burned his home, humans who had cooked his family. It wasn’t much further to imagine them eating him. Trevor also wanted to scream.

Adrian waited.

Trevor’s heart beat rabbit-fast. His back hurt, his shoulders so raised they almost touched his ears. He had to force out each breath through clenched teeth.

“And what?” Trevor croaked, finally, “I-I’m just supposed to believe you.”

“Yes,” Adrian said, promptly, as if Trevor was a particularly slow child.

Trevor opened his eyes. Adrenaline was making him light-headed and unsteady. He turned and looked at the dhampir.

“Why?” Trevor snapped.

Adrian was barely visible in the moonlight. His golden curls looked white, and when he tilted his head they splayed over his collar.

“Because I said so,” Adrian said.

It was so— so sharp and almost petulant, that Trevor felt himself relax, just slightly. Adrian was such a kid sometimes. Trevor closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply. Adrian did not pounce on him while his eyes were closed—as he’d half expected—which helped. Trevor massaged his sternum through the thick layers of clothes.

“You can stay with us,” Adrian said, authoritatively, “Mother will heal you. Then you’ll be able to let me use the whip and—”

“The whip?” Trevor choked, “My whip?”

Adrian glared at him. He had never liked being interrupted.

“Adrian—you can’t use my whip.”

“Why not?”

Trevor thought about explaining the fact that Adrian probably wouldn’t even be able to hold it due its blessings, but it was late and he didn’t know how much the dhampir already knew about the limitations of vampire nature, so he just said: “Because it’s my fucking whip.”

Adrian jutted out his jaw unhappily, “Well, anyway, then you can teach me to use a dagger and I’ll teach you to use a sword.”

“I know how to use a sword,” Trevor shot back, “I probably know more about—”

“Stop arguing with me!” Adrian snapped.

Trevor rubbed his forehead. With his head cleared, he felt a wash of defeat roll over him. Was it really a choice—waiting in the woods to starve to death, or wait in the castle for Dracula to take a chunk out of him? Death or death? At least a vampire’s bite might be quicker, and he knew from experience that starving wasn’t painless.

Trevor sighed and swung out his arms in defeat, “Fine, I’ll come back.”

Adrian snatched his outstretched hand and held it in his own. The dhampir’s grip was warm and tight, and he tugged the human back up the hill, retracing the broken undergrowth silently, hand in hand.

Chapter 5

Notes:

this chapter is why im adding "reluctant father vlad dracula-tepes" to the tags

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Lisa did not let him out the castle, but after two months she let him leave her office. Trying the door was out of the question, as was any other exits (although he didn’t find any anyway) so Trevor slunk around, defeated and unhappy.

It was long enough that Trevor had lost a lot of muscle mass, which he had regained in a healthy pudge. He took up running around the castle—and quickly finds there is a lot of ground to cover. The castle looked colossal from the outside but seemed even bigger than that. It was larger, even, than the Belmont mansion had been, it was like a little city. He kept finding new rooms—cold stone workstations, small offices, rooms filled with ancient, intricate machinery. They were conspicuously empty and disused, and Trevor didn’t want to think about what all that space was designed to be used for; a whole undead city, Dracula and all his court, every room filled with white faces and bloody floors.

Eventually he settled on a long, cavernous corridor. The carpet was a dull red, split through with bone-white in a repeating, geometric pattern that reminded Trevor of the long ribcage of a snake. He started by sprinting around the perimeter of the corridor. When his legs started to shake, he dropped onto the floor and began to force himself through push-ups and crunches. The carpet was clean but smelled like stale dust.

Adrian often watched him from between the banisters, curled up like a cat and blinking slowly. He was usually silent and so still that Trevor sometimes mistook his golden curls for the glinting gilds on the ribbed vaulting.

“Why are you bothering?” Adrian asked once, “If you think father’s going to eat you, you’ll be better off with less muscle. Less meat.”

Adrian always talked about it like it was ridiculous, as if Trevor was making some elaborate joke rather than a reasonable assumption about a creature of darkness. Trevor dropped out of his push-up, resting on his elbows. His chest felt raw. His burns and lacerations on his hands and feet had healed into thick, numb lumps like the paw pads on an animal.

“Not if he was going to slow cook me,” Trevor said, sourly, “The extra fat would have made the meat soft and moist. Haven’t you heard the tale Hansel and Gretel?”

“No,” Adrian pushed his arms through the gaps in the bannisters and let them hang down, “Tell it to me.”

Trevor ignored him. He rolled until he could get his feet under him and began to sprint again.

 

*

 

There was a light knock at the door.

Vlad set down his tweezers, the small, refine chip of gold clattering onto the metal plate. He lifted his eyes from his work. Behind the thick haze of chemical smoke, he spotted his wife at the door, wiping her hands on her apron. There was the familiar green stain from plant sap along her finger marks.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Lisa said.

“You’re never interrupting,” Vlad said, truthfully. There was no experiment he considered more engaging than her company.

Lisa smiled and approached. Vlad turned down the flame and the smoke receded, slipping up through the vents in the office’s ceiling.

“What can I do for you?” Vlad asked.

“I was wondering,” Lisa sat on the corner of his worktop, “if you would accept another student.”

“Of course,” Vlad said, “but since we were married, I would not be a teacher. I am simply… your lab partner.”

Lisa smiled and said nothing.

Vlad glanced away, “Ah. Not you.”

“No,” Lisa said.

“Belmont would not accept it,” Vlad said, “he doesn’t trust me. I do not fault him for that.”

“I think it would be good for him,” Lisa insisted, “and besides, it would be good for Adrian too. I can’t help but think our child must be lonely.”

Vlad’s lips thinned. It was a whisper, a shadow passing, of an argument they had years ago. Lisa worried that Adrian was growing up strange without siblings or peers, like a plant kept in the dark. Vlad would not have another child. Adrian’s birth had been hard—it had been wonderful, yes—but also the most terrible night of Vlad’s memory, a screaming, bloody night. He refused to repeat it, and he was undeniable on this point. Vlad could be as stubborn as his wife sometimes.

“You are talking as if the Belmont boy is staying,” Vlad said.

“Well, have you found a place for him?”

“Several,” Vlad said, picking up his gold shard with the tweezers again, “You rejected all of them.”

Lisa sighed, “I wasn’t trying to be difficult. Some of them were halfway promising, but none of them were safe enough.”

“My dear,” Vlad said, focusing his eye-lens, “there is no place in the world safe for a boy like that.”

 

*

 

“No.”

“Trevor,” Lisa put her hands on her hips, “it’s only history and literature. Vlad will be a good teacher—he’ll explain everything.”

“That’s not the issue,” Trevor hissed, “you want me to spend the day alone in a room with Dracula!

Lisa clucked, “It’s only two hours. You’ve been living for seven months in the same house as him, you can stand being within a hundred feet.”

“Not by choice!” Trevor put his fork down, “Besides, I can read and write. What else is there to know?”

Lisa smiled, clearing away the grubby breakfast plates. She set them into a strange contraption Trevor didn’t really understand. Racks of dirty plates and cutlery and glasses were stacked up, disappeared into the depths of the boxy machine, and were returned crystalline clean and bone dry. Trevor suspected it was some kind of imp living in the wall which cleaned them, an imp Dracula couldn’t stand the sight of.

“If it were you…” Trevor mumbled.

“I’m busy,” Lisa said, “Vlad enjoys teaching and I don’t. I promise it will be more enjoyable than you think, and I can even promise Vlad won’t try to eat you.”

Trevor muttered darkly.

“Besides,” Lisa said as she put the last plate into the dishwasher, “you won’t be alone.”

 

*

 

Adrian had never had a schoolmate before. Vlad had turned back to the earlier chapters of the chemistry almanac to cover the basic principles of matter. Adrian knew this well, so instead snuck glances at Trevor over the corner of his thread-bare copy. Trevor didn’t look back at him.

After ten minutes, Vlad paused to ask a question and Adrian glanced at Trevor. After a few moments of silence, Vlad sighed.

“Are you listening, Belmont?” Vlad asked, icily.

“You said something?” Trevor asked.

Vlad tightened his jaw, “Don’t be difficult.”

“Be a little more interesting.”

Adrian glanced between them and then down at his copy of the chemistry almanac. He had never thought of chemistry as boring, it was simply something that he just had to sit still and memorise. But it was true that he had never thought of it as interesting either.

Vlad rubbed his jaw, scratching his short black goatee.

“Are we going to continue?” Adrian asked, quietly.

“Of course,” Vlad said.

Trevor slapped his almanac closed and crossed his arms. He fixed his eyes on the clock which hung on the wall.

Vlad steeled himself. In his long life he faced down armies and assassins, and although those days felt very far away, he still could defeat a sour faced twelve-year-old. He flipped through the almanac and cleared his throat.

He talked. And talked. He didn’t make the mistake of asking any questions, except for one he directed at Adrian. And throughout, Trevor sat, stone-faced, his eyes fixed on the clock.

After exactly an hour and forty-eight minutes Trevor stood up and marched out.

Vlad paused. The door slammed after him, hard enough to rattle the paintings. There was a long moment of silence and the muffled noise of Belmont stamping away.

“Adrian,” Vlad said.

Adrian straightened up.

“I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for being such a good student.”

 

*

 

The next day, Trevor appeared in the classroom moments after Adrian. He searched around the old office, a frown deepening over his features.

“Where’s the clock?” Trevor asked.

“I have a pocket watch,” Vlad produced a small, intricate little timepiece, “I promise I’ll keep perfect time.”

Trevor shot him a venomous look and turned on his heel, stalking out of the room.

 

*

 

The next day, Trevor did not appear.

Adrian sat in the quiet calm of the office classroom. His father smoothed down the old pages of the book. Adrian could pick up the distant tick of a clock.

Even while they were waiting, they knew Trevor wouldn’t coming. Still, Adrian pretended to be expecting him, glancing at the empty doorframe.

Trevor didn’t attend the day after that, either.

 

*

 

“My dear,” Lisa said, in a troubling kind of voice. She was in her night dress, its black taffeta the colour of dark coffee.

Vlad closed the book he’d been looking over. His wife’s hair was down and curled like fine golden flax over her shoulders. It was several shades darker than Adrian’s, though where he’d gotten that from Vlad wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was just age.

“What is it?” Vlad asked.

“Trevor’s been hanging around the office a lot more,” Lisa said, “can I ask how the tutoring is going?”

“We have…” Vlad paused. He’d made a vow never to lie to his wife, but the situation was a little embarrassing for a prince of the night, “We have hit a roadblock. In his tutoring.”

“I see,” Lisa said, tilting her head, “will you be able to sort it out?”

Vlad moved over to let her into bed, “Of course, my love.”

 

*

 

Trevor was halfway through a push-up when a long shadow fell over him. He lowered himself onto the floor and rolled over. Dracula loomed above him. His body was hidden in a sleek silk coat, his collar a wound of vibrant red. He smiled down at the boy, teeth gleaming.

Trevor jumped to his feet, heart racing, and took half a dozen steps backwards, “Hey.”

“Hello,” Dracula’s smile vanished, “May I have a moment of your time, Belmont?”

Trevor clenched his teeth and forced his breathing to slow. He glanced around. They were alone in the long, cavernous hallway. The castle was, as it always was, utterly silent.

“Good,” Dracula straightened up, “I wish to raise an issue about your tutorship.”

“I’m not coming back,” Trevor said.

“That is exactly the issue I wanted to raise,” Dracula smiled again, as if Trevor had said something deeply amusing, “is there anything I can do to convince you?”

“No,” Trevor said, “I’m not leaving myself vulnerable like that—and besides, I don’t want to be stuck inside with a little kid.”

“I’ll ask you to reconsider,” Dracula said, “now, think about it. Many have wanted things I possess and have tried very hard to get things from me.”

“Like your head on a spike, maybe,” Trevor glared.

Dracula just continued to smile. It was an utterly unnerving expression.

Trevor tried to clear his head, but it was difficult when he felt like he was staring down a polite hungry lion. He wanted a moment away from Dracula’s piercing, watchful eyes, but that didn’t seem like it was going to happen any time soon. He closed his eyes and thought.

“I-I,” Trevor’s mouth snapped shut and he willed away the stutter, “I… would like a favour.”

“A favour?” Dracula practically purred.

“Yes,” Trevor’s eyes snapped open, “Something you can’t back out of. It’s something I can cash in later.”

“Interesting,” Dracula said. And nothing more.

Trevor swallowed, “It would be something attainable. And it wouldn’t harm your family.”

“And you wouldn’t try to use a favour to escape?” Dracula asked.

Trevor glared, “What do you care?”

“I promise you, I don’t,” Dracula said, coolly, “but my wife cares and I care about her.”

“Fine,” Trevor said, rubbing his eyes, “does that sound alright, then?”

Dracula considered that for a long time. Belmont, to his credit, didn’t waver, staring back into his eyes with his jaw set.

“Give me veto power,” Dracula said.

“What? No!” Trevor took another step back, “Are you kidding me? You’ll just say no to everything. I’m not stupid.”

Dracula closed his mouth and ran his tongue over his long fangs. Things would be a lot easier if he was. But, still—he wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to give his mortal enemy such a large, largely unrestricted edge.

“What about this?” Trevor took a deep breath, “I’ll give Lisa veto power.”

Dracula drew back in surprise.

“But—but I’m allowed to make my case to her,” Trevor said, “I’m allowed to convince her.”

“And in return?”

“For three months I’ll be the model student,” Trevor said, “for a favour, something attainable, something Lisa agrees to, it won’t harm your family and I won’t try to escape. My word is my bind, on my honour as a Belmont.”

Dracula’s cloak shifted and he extended a long, clawed hand.

Trevor stared down at it. Queasily, he stretched out a hand and took it. Dracula’s hand was huge, large enough to almost engulf his forearm. His claws were as thick as Trevor’s little finger.

Dracula shook his hand, once.

 

*

 

The next day, Trevor arrived five minutes before class was to start. He had brushed his hair and put on fresh, clean clothes. His Belmont crest gleamed like an old penny under the lapels of his fur-lined jacket.

Trevor was very engaged. He watched Vlad with bright eyes, asked Adrian questions and pounced on every question Vlad posed. He was, if anything, a bit obnoxious. But it was much easier to teach that kind of student, and Vlad found him to be surprisingly bright. They quickly covered the material and caught up with Adrian’s studies.

They moved on to the more practical and applicable chemistry, Trevor was good in the lab too. Vlad realised, belatedly, that Trevor probably knew how to built a simple bomb, which was where he got his chemistry training from. A few generations ago, the Belmonts had stolen a book of war machines from one of his bases, and they had been passing down and recreating whatever they could from it.

Adrian, to Vlad’s eye, was looking uncharacteristically meek. He worked closely with Trevor in the lab, almost furtively. That set Vlad’s teeth on edge. If his son started idolising a Belmont…

Lisa often stopped by, bringing plates of food or little bottles of chemicals. She smiled warmly at the three of them, her family and the obedient Belmont, the kind of warm smile that kicked up a bizarre, squirming sensation in Vlad’s old heart.

 

*

 

Three months passed in study.

Every day, the presence of the favour tickled the back of Vlad’s mind. He could feel it hanging around the room, like a heavy chill. He tried, half-heartedly, to test Belmont’s resolve. He dismissed Adrian early and had Belmont work alone. He extended study sessions, he repeated himself, he had Belmont memorise random facts and figures perfectly.

But every attempt ran the risk of making Lisa suspicious. And besides, Vlad had the distinct impression that Belmont would skip sleep and forgo food to get what he wanted.

So he taught. He taught sweeping histories of ancient cities and governments, he taught the geology of the comets and the sixteen layers of earth. He taught about creatures only found at the very bottom of the ocean, unseen by human eyes, he taught about the nature of matter and the truth of being, he named every star.

Belmont’s eyes hardly left him. His attention was always focused on the lesson. It never wavered. Anyone would have assumed the boy had forgotten the favour altogether. Anyone except Vlad.

 

*

 

On the evening of the last day of the third month, Vlad heard a knock on his office door.

“Enter,” He called.

Trevor turned the handle and pushed the heavy dark oak door open. The doorframe dwarfed him. He was dressed for the outdoors, his thick cloak swamped him in rabbit-fur folds, the leather of his heavy boots creaking as he shifted his weight.

“Dracula,” Trevor said, closing the door behind him, “I have come for my favour.”

“Well,” Vlad turned around in his chair. Even sitting down, he was still taller than the boy, “May I ask what it is?”

Trevor looked very young, his hair combed away from his face and his eyes big and dark. His expression was very unchildlike, “I need you to move the castle.”

“Where to?”

“To the Belmont mansion,” Trevor said. He pulled his cloak tighter around him.

“Ah,” Vlad breathed deeply, “I thought you weren’t escaping?”

“I’m not,” Trevor gritted out.

Vlad raised an eyebrow, “Then why—”

“I have to go back,” Trevor snapped, “I-I have to—… I have to… I’ve got to bury everyone.”

Vlad leaned back. He waited for a moment, in silence, expressionless. For a moment there was only the sound of their breathing. Then he closed his eyes, “I’ll move tomorrow morning. You’ve got two weeks maximum. You’re only allowed out when the sun is up, you are to return for the night.”

“Lisa has to—”

“Lisa will agree with those terms,” Vlad waved a hand.

Trevor nodded stiffly. He fidgeted with his cloak, pulling it tighter around him.

“You’re dismissed,” Vlad said, heavily.

Trevor didn’t need to be told twice. The door slammed behind him. Vlad sunk a little further into his chair with a deep sigh.

 

*

 

What followed was the worst two weeks of Trevor Belmont’s life.

Every morning he woke up at the first light of morning. Or, rather, he didn’t sleep and the first smudge of light stirred him from his deeper thoughts. Then he retrieved his shovel and descended the steps to the Belmont estate.

Lisa offered to help him, or to take the task from him entirely, but Trevor couldn’t let her. It was his task and besides, the fragments of wards and charms which remained might bar a non-Belmont from parts of the property. So instead, she stayed in the castle or watched the surrounding roads for the church’s men.

Trevor worked through the morning and afternoon, stopping for drink but not food. He couldn’t eat, and besides, he wasn’t hungry. He lost weight. His hands covered with blisters and ingrained dirt. His nails were black with dirt.

Just before the sun sank below the horizon each night, he dragged himself back up the steps and curled up like a stray dog on the tiles of the castle floor. Lisa covered him with blankets and left food that he didn’t eat. Adrian had been confined to his rooms and the further reaches of the castle. And Dracula waited in his high towers, just watching, silent, silent.

On the last day, Trevor set down his shovel on the castle floor. His whole body had a tremor through it, a shiver like a brush against a taut string. He knelt on his knobbly knees; his thin hands flat against the cool tiles.

Lisa wrapped a heavy blanket around him, lifting him up, “Come on, Trevor. I’ve drawn a bath.” Trevor allowed himself to be pulled around, his eyes wide and uncomfortably dry.

 

*

 

Late that night, Lisa finally returned to her chambers.

Her hair was unbound and knotted, hanging around her in waves. She didn’t bother to change out of her day clothes, shedding only her apron and jacket before crawling into bed. Vlad pulled the covers around her, pulling her into the core of his warm as she began to shake.

“Oh, Vasha,” Lisa pressed her wet face into her husband’s chest, “Oh my God, Vasha.”

The pet name prickled in Vlad’s heart. He wished he could smooth out the pain in her heart. All he could do was wrap tighter around her and stroke her hair, humming what he hoped was comforting. Lisa’s nails dug into his back as she sobbed.

Notes:

🗡️🗡️🗡️
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Sorry, not much Adrian/Alucard this chapter. I promise he'll be in the next one more.

Also, I forgot to mention, but some angel did a tvtropes page for this fanfiction!! So please check it out and send the author good vibes !

Chapter 6

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Trevor flicked his wrist and the dark leather whip dropped in curls onto the cold stone of the castle. It made a sharp snap as the tail hit the cold stone floor.

Adrian tried to tamp down his excitement and kept his expression clear and passive.

“You aren’t going to listen to me,” Trevor said, tiredly. He turned the handle around, towards Adrian. “So try it yourself.”

Adrian took the handle and pulled it upwards. The whip unspooled into a long dark line and he threw it upwards and brought it down. It cracked satisfyingly in the air.

Trevor took a step back as the whip snaked and spat.

Already there was a prickling, sharp feeling in Adrian’s palm. He shifted his grip. It was like holding a stinging nettle, tiny pin-pricks which tickled up and down his arm. He cracked the whip again and tried to ignore it. Adrian scratched his wrist.

The raw, prickling sensation increased. Now it was like holding a hot kettle handle. He felt it like a warmth in areas of skin that weren’t even in contact with the holy leather. Adrian shifted his grip again and flipped the whip around.

Pain sliced through his hand, hot white and clear, and finally Adrian tossed the handle away. It flopped in piles of dark leather, like a dead snake.

Trevor coughed into his hand and picked the handle up, folding it around his wrist, “You see what I mean now? And the whip itself is worse than the handle.”

Adrian grunted unhappily. His palm was pink and raw. “I can just buy my own whip.”

“Oh yeah,” Trevor smirked to himself. His eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep, but he’d put on a bit of weight since his trip back to the Belmont estate. “You know, imitation is the highest form of flattery, Adrian. I’m touched.”

Adrian tensed, “That’s not what this is!”

Trevor gave up on wrapping the rest of the whip, and the trailing end of it slipped under the hem of his long cloak when he walked away, like a very long tail. “Sure, sure.”

 

*

 

Vlad’s head rose from his book, and it took a moment for him to realise what had stirred him from his studies.

The workshop was lit by a chain of evenly spaced electric lights which washed the room in pale yellow, like dusk. Gleaming bronze equipment covered almost every surface; the blown glass flasks reflected him in a kaleidoscope of dark shapes. Lisa had stopped working and sat with her pencil poised over her notebook.

Lisa closed her notebook with a flop and stretched. She regarded her husband with an unreadable look.

Vlad closed his book and stood, setting the great, dusty tome back on the bookshelf. It slotted easily into place. Something about Lisa’s manner told him she wanted to talk.

“Something on your mind, my love?” Vlad asked, and sat down in the chair opposite hers.

Lisa closed the clasp on her notebook. She sighed and chewed her bottom lip. “It’s Trevor’s birthday soon.”

Vlad paused. The Belmont scion had been a tentative topic between them, like sore spot. It wasn’t that they disagreed—merely that he could feel she was more attuned to the child than he was. He nodded.

Lisa rested her chin on her wrist. “I know he’s not staying. I agree, he needs to live somewhere else—especially since he’s a member of one of the Great families. If word got to the church that one of their members was living with Dracula… However unlikely that leak would be, it’s not something we want to risk.”

Vlad nodded again. He wondered where she was headed.

“And he needs new shirts too…” Lisa said.

Vlad frowned.

Lisa pushed back from her seat and drew a great trunk towards her. She snapped the latches open and pulled out several flowing silk shirts. She held them up to Vlad. The Dracula crest gleamed in red and silver embroidery over the back of the shirt.

“It’s a tradition of the Great families in Wallachia,” Lisa said. “To accept another member of a family as a brother or sister while they live among another a clan. It’s like accepting another sibling, accepting a member of the family.”

“But Lisa,” Vlad frowned. “He already has a family.”

“No,” Lisa let the silk fabric drop and they fell soundlessly in slow folds of glossy fabric. “He doesn’t.

Vlad glanced over Lisa’s face. There was a shadow of a past Lisa didn’t talk of—dying relatives locked inside plague houses, being passed from relation to relation. Vlad’s resistance dissolved. He pulled the silk shirts towards himself.

“Let me give them to him,” Vlad said.

 

*

 

Dracula opened the door, making sure to let the hinges creak and groan and his shoes clip along the stone floor. He even let his cloak rustle. Trevor clearly heard him enter, his head turning slightly as he aimed his bow, but otherwise he didn’t react.

There was a rhythmic whistle and thump as each arrow was loosed from Trevor’s bow and pierced the target in the very top corner. The wooden target was in the shape of a man and the areas over the head and heart bristled with sunken arrows.

Dracula drew to a halt beside the rack of weapons. Trevor notched and pulled back the bowstring and loosed it—it whistled past the target and shattered against the stone wall two feet behind it. Trevor grimaced and felt for another arrow, but his quiver was empty.

“Belmont,” Dracula drawled.

Trevor pulled the straps of his quiver loose and shrugged it off. It dropped the floor with a slap and he kicked it under the weapons rack. He regarded Dracula coolly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Dracula’s hands breached the smooth black line of his cloak, and produced a pile of silk shirts, “These are for you.”

Trevor watched him for a long moment, as if looking for some sign of a trap. Apparently, he didn’t see one, because he set his bow down. He approached sideways, as if expecting to dodge a kick. He pulled the silk shirt up, and it unfolded slightly.

The Dracula family crest stared Belmont in the face. He went completely still.

Dracula watched him over the collar of the white silk shirt. The crest was actually a fabrication—something he’d design several hundred years ago for no reason than he wanted something to emboss into the leather bindings of his books. The skull at the centre had been adapted from a Nordic family he’d wiped out years earlier, and the salmon fish it held in its mouth represented a limitless world, a creature held under complete dominance. But even if Trevor didn’t recognise it, which was unlikely, he would know what it meant. The skull had fangs, after all.

Trevor unsheathed his dagger and had it at Dracula’s throat in one fluid, fast movement.

The silk shirts drifted to the floor and flopped over one another. Dracula hadn’t reacted—partially because he didn’t want to—but partially also because he didn’t realise what Trevor had until it was held against his neck. Holy burn prickled Dracula’s throat.

Dracula’s eyes travelled down the elegant sliver of the blade; the marbled damascene steel patterned like wood grain. Light gleamed across the long line of the spine; a black blood-drop opal was set just above the guard.

“Blessed silver,” Dracula said. His breath made a ghost over the faultless metal. “The Pilate Blade.”

Trevor didn’t say anything. His eyes were hard and dark.

The Pilate Blade had been forged by the Belmont line, although until now Dracula had assumed it had been lost or sold. It was blessed, as the whip was, but it had the unfortunate downside of being made of pure silver and inlaid with opals. That made it an irresistible lure for any thief or villain the Belmont crossed paths with.

“You retrieved this from the manor,” Dracula drawled darkly. “You broke your word.”

Dracula leaned forward, and Trevor took a step back, but kept the knife a hair’s breadth from Dracula’s long throat. The boy had to stand on his toes to reach.

“No,” Trevor said, voice surprisingly steady. “I said it wouldn’t harm your family. I never said it wouldn’t harm you.”

Dracula stared down at him like a hawk. His body was bent in one smooth curve.

One of Trevor’s ancestors had said to Dracula, many years ago—people are afraid of you because they think you can’t be beaten. They can’t remember a time before you, so they can’t imagine a time after it either. But your castle will be torn down, and we’ll kill you. That Belmont had orchestrated the destruction of three of his highest-ranking generals before she had been caught in the desert and killed. She and her family had been like a wolf in the night, striking when even he didn’t expect her to.

But Trevor had hesitated. He hesitated even now. The dagger blade was poised at Dracula’s throat, but it was a bluff. A show. If he was going to kill, he would have done it already. And—Dracula realised, with a cold feeling—Trevor would have succeeded. Dracula hadn’t defended himself, had made no move to stop the blow. At some point, Dracula had mentally checked Trevor off from the list of dangers. He was harmless. At some point, Dracula had even started to think of him as…

“I am not your fucking son,” Trevor hissed, voice thick with venom, “I am not a fucking pet you can dress up and parade around. I am a Belmont, I am your enemy, Vladimir.”

Dracula drew himself up slightly, and the knife followed him, keeping within a whisper of his jugular. He didn’t look at the blade, instead he watched Trevor’s eyes. The Belmont was still as a hunting animal.

Dracula said. “Do you think of me as the sort of man to keep a pet, of all things?”

“I do not think of you as a man at all,” Trevor narrowed his eyes.

Dracula sighed. Touché. His skin prickled with the proximity to blessed steel. “I do not think of you as a pet… or a son for that matter.”

Trevor glanced at the silk shirts that lay piled on the stone floor. He quickly returned his eyes to Dracula.

“I simply think of you,” Dracula took a graceful step back, too quick for Trevor to follow, “as my esteemed, honourable guest.”

Trevor took an involuntary step forward when Dracula vanished from his grasp. He took a moment to find the vampire again—who was standing beside the door. Fear flashed through his eyes, before they hardened and went cold. He straightened up and sheathed the knife at his belt.

Dracula curled a long hand around the door handle, “One last thing, Belmont…”

Trevor glanced at him.

“My orthodox name is not Vladimir,” Dracula said, “it is Vladislav.” He pushed the door open.

 

*

 

Adrian heard the door open and dropped excitedly to his feet. Trevor stepped into the long corridor, brushing dust from his knees. He was wearing a new white silk shirt which fitted him better than the last one had. When Belmont turned to pick up weapons from the rack, Adrian noticed there were small, even holes in a circular silhouette over the shirt’s blank back, like threads had been severed and picked out to removed something.

“What do you want spar with?” Trevor asked.

“Swords,” Adrian said, and Trevor passed him a long broadsword, keeping an identical one for himself.

Adrian wrapped a hand around the pummel of the blade and tossed it a little, testing its weight.

“I’ll got easy on you, since you’re half my height and half the range,” Trevor said, dropping into a ready stance.

Adrian glared, “Well I’m four-times faster than you are, so I’ll go easy on you!

“As if,” Trevor grinned, “Vampires have no concept of fair play.”

Adrian swiped at his stomach, an easy swipe and Trevor stepped out of range. They were just warming up, swinging wide and open, getting their muscles moving. Adrian bounced forward, slashing at Trevor’s head, but Trevor bobbed out of the way, swinging to make Adrian step back. The Belmont rarely struck first, whereas Adrian tumbled into an offensive at the first sign of danger.

Trevor lost ground, but the corridor was so wide that he could curve around in a broad arc around the weapons stand. Adrian never seemed to lose his footing, no matter how wild and jumpy his swings were. It was as if, should Adrian miss the floor, he would gain traction on the air itself. If Adrian mis stepped on stairs, he would just start to levitate.

Finally, Adrian cornered Trevor and their blades crashed together. Trevor slipped past him again, away from the wall, and pushed the blade away with his own—too fast for Adrian to follow. Adrian threw a wild swing at him, but he just bobbed away.

Adrian growled, “Are you going to keep dodging my—”

Trevor’s sword darted for Adrian’s flank and the boy barely had time to block it. He felt his own blade straining, causing a bunch in his shirt material as he struggled to keep Trevor’s sword away. He twisted awkwardly to gain ground—but Trevor moved faster, striking for his shoulder. Adrian didn’t have time to move his sword, and skipped backwards, almost overbalancing.

It was like the winds had changed. Trevor was relentless. Adrian’s knee hit the side of an alabaster pillar as he darted backwards, his kneecap cracking painfully. He managed to get his bearings in time to block a strike Trevor swung down like a crack of thunder. He couldn’t even stand up before he was already blocking a strike to his middle, to his sword arm.

Trevor hunted like a starving animal. Adrian finally managed to stand up, but he was losing ground. Trevor was stronger than him, and he had been right about his range—and Adrian had been wrong about his own speed. He might be faster than Trevor, but the Belmont son never gave him a chance to use it. He was always reacting.

Metal clanged painfully loud in Adrian’s ear. His heightened senses made the sweat rolling down his back agonising, and his knee burned. Trevor sliced through the silk over Adrian’s shoulder when the dhampir was slow to dodge and his blade cut shallowly in his skin.

Adrian tumbled backwards and Trevor aimed a sharp kick to the underside of his knee. Adrian’s sword swung towards the floor and Trevor’s boot landed on the flat side of the sword, pinning it to the stone.

White flashed along Trevor’s blade as it arced down like an executioner’s axe.

Adrian’s sword was pinned, he was twisted awkwardly. Panic filled his chest, wild and ferocious—and he swung with his free hand.

The blow was so powerful it struck Trevor over. His body hit the stone and the sword skidded from his hands, flashing silver. The boy took a moment to pick himself up, cradling his face in one hand.

Three ruby red lines were carved into Trevor’s jaw on the right side, ending just under his eye. As Adrian watched, horrified, they began to bleed. Heavily. It dribbled down his chin and dotted his collar. His right eyes was screwed shut.

Adrian’s heart was hardly beating. It felt like his head was cold and empty, he couldn’t think. He looked down at his hand. Long claws slowly retracted back into his fingers, reforming normal, human-looking hands. Blood splattered his pale fingers.

“Ah, fuck me,” Trevor hissed. Blood dripped between his fingers. “That hurts.”

Adrian scrambled to his feet and sprinted away.

 

*

 

“Ow,” Trevor whined, “Ow, Ow, Ow.”

“You didn’t complain this much when I was actually sewing it up,” Lisa observed mildly. She continued to dab disinfectant along the sewn skin.

Trevor wriggled, “You anesthetised that bit.”

“Yes, which I had to wash off,” Lisa said. “And stop squirming. If this gets infected, I’ll have to cut an even bigger hole in your face.”

Trevor held still but grumbled lowly, like an angry cat. “The other one didn’t get infected and I didn’t add anything to it.”

Lisa glanced at the much older scar on the left side of Trevor’s face. It was thin and white and cut down through his eyebrow, missing his eye, and then starting again at the crest of his cheek. She finished adding disinfectant to the sutures to sterilise the wound. From her box of medicine, she pulled out a big square of gauze and began to cut it down to size. Dressing facial wounds was more difficult than dressing other areas because she needed to be conservative with the dressing—she couldn’t just slap a fist sized bit of gauze on his face and wrap him in bandages until he looked like a mummy—however much she wanted to.

“Adrian grew claws,” Trevor said, making a claw gesture helpfully.

“Did he?” Lisa frowned.

“Yeah,” Trevor swung his legs off the side of the patient bed. “Can vampires retract their fangs?”

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“Well, in case there’s one hiding in plain sight. I’d like to know, in case I need to protect myself or something.”

“No vampires are going to sneak up on you here,” Lisa said. “I promise you’re safe, at least for the moment. I wouldn’t worry about it. But what I would worry about is how often you’re ending up in my office.”

“Right? Now I match,” Trevor grinned, and tapped his older scar.

“That’s not something you should be grinning about,” Lisa glared at him. “Honestly, I know you were sparring but it’s worrying when you get hurt so often.”

“I’m just unlucky,” Trevor said dryly. “My brother always said when they were giving out luck, I didn’t get the full compliment. Bad luck’s the only kind of luck I got.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow. She mixed a little soft-dry adhesive in her bronze bowl before she dabbed it onto the very corners of the small rectangle of gauze. Lisa liked to look on the bright side of things, but she saw his point. He lived a very unlucky kind of life, even if she did hope it was on an up-swing. The lamp flickered on the table—oil, because she didn’t like the colour or feel of the electric ones Vlad designed—and smelled heavily of lard.

“Maybe you did something bad in a past life,” Lisa hummed to herself. “Maybe it’s the fault of the reincarnation a few lives before you.”

She pressed the gauze over the wound, careful not to put any pressure on the injury itself. Trevor’s hand came up and after a moment she let him take over, pressing the adhesive into his skin.

“I don’t believe in that sort of stuff,” Trevor said.

Lisa cut off a long white bandage, “Really? I mean, aren’t the Belmonts some denomination of Christianity?”

“Not me,” Trevor said. “I don’t believe in any kind of afterlife. Nothing before or after—I don’t think it makes sense.”

“Well,” Lisa said, and wrapped the bandage around his head once, twice, just to keep the gauze secure, and tied it neatly. “If you’ve only got the one life, take better care of it for me, will you?”

Lisa ruffled his hair and Trevor looked up at her, a little pink-faced. He nodded.

 

*

 

Adrian was avoiding him.

Trevor figured that out pretty quickly. Adrian ducked out of meals when Trevor arrived, scattered whenever Trevor entered a room, and he stopped attending lessons at all. He hadn’t even realised how closely the little dhampir had been tailing him until he was missing. Trevor had grown used to always looking down to see the golden head of curls at his elbow.

The castle was wide and empty, and his footsteps echoed like a hollow drum in the cold stone corridor.

 

*

 

Something snared around Adrian’s ankle mid-jump, like a rabbit trap snapping tight.

He was yanked from the air, the balcony he had jumped for pulled out of sight. The stone floor rushed up to meet him and he collided ankle first. His body crumbled. His head spun and his stomach flipped before the pain registered.

Adrian tried to pick himself up—but a boot landed on the back of his head.

His face was pressed into the immaculate stone floor. He breathed in grid and dust. Adrian couldn’t turn his head, but he saw a dark line snake out from under his side, from where it snared tight around his ankle. He could already feel the slight prickle of holy leather.

“Gotcha,” Trevor drawled, out of sight.

Adrian’s heart hammered. He felt sick and dizzy. He heard Trevor in his free ear, the one that wasn’t flush with the floor, but he couldn’t see him. He couldn’t pinpoint where the Belmont was.

Trevor shifted his boot slightly, until the toe pressed hard into Adrian’s temple. The weigh on it increases briefly like a wave. “Do you know what my mother used to call me, when she got mad?” Trevor asked.

Adrian swallowed thickly. Trevor’s voice held none of its usual brightness. He wasn’t joking this time. And by the increasing weight on Adrian’s ear—he wanted an answer. “N-no.”

Rat-catcher,” Trevor drawled. There was a snap of leather, and Adrian was flipped over, ankle first. He opened his mouth to cry out—but swallowed it when he saw the long knife poised at his throat.

Now he could see Trevor, but he wished he couldn’t. The Belmont boy bore down on him like a lion, eyes black and depthless. Trevor had a fistful of Adrian’s shirt tangled with the whip handle, while his free hand held a long holy knife.

“I wonder what she’d say if she saw me right now,” Trevor said. The knife point pushed into Adrian’s pale skin like a hot poker. “Would she want me to slit your throat? Or—would she wait for a few last words first?”

Adrian swallowed thickly. He tried to shift away—but his head was pressed hard into the cold stone. There was nowhere to go.

“So?” Trevor asked. His face was partially obscured by a thick white bandage and his eyes were like hard pebbles.

Adrian tried again to try and wriggle away, but he couldn’t. He felt like a mouse in a trap, too tightly pinned to even twist away. “W-what?”

Trevor tossed the whip away and snatched Adrian by the chin, “Last words?”

Adrian glanced over Belmont’s face. Trevor held his jaw tightly, like someone might hold a misbehaving dog.

“Well?” Trevor asked.

Adrian swallowed and shook his head minutely. Trevor put a hand over Adrian’s mouth. Adrian squeezed his eyes shut.

Then he was released.

Adrian surged upwards and Trevor stepped backwards. It was like a spell had been lifted. His expression was clear and bright. He pulled his whip up and wrapped it around his forearm.

Trevor grinned at him.

Adrian sat up, heart thundering. He frowned at him.

“You passed,” Trevor tilted his head.

“What?” Adrian scrambled around and stood up unsteadily.

“You’ve been avoiding me because of the claws, right?” Trevor beamed. “Well you didn’t have much to worry about. You’re pigeon-hearted.” The way he said it was odd—not mean, but almost… proud.

Adrian searched the other boy’s face again. “I still don’t get it.”

“You’re worried about hurting me,” Trevor said. “But you didn’t hurt me. I had my hands right next to your face—and you didn’t bite me.”

Adrian stared at him.

He had a very odd, weightless feeling. He wiped his face and remembered where Trevor’s hands had been only a moment ago, felt the memory of their pressure. It was like he was drifting slightly, released from a very great weight which had kept him tethered like a yoke. He almost stumbled with the lightness of it.

“Was I too rough?” Trevor raised an eyebrow.

Adrian watched him, bewildered.

Weeks ago now, Adrian had asked his father whether he hated the Belmonts. It had been a fair question. The Belmonts had carved themselves as natural enemies to creatures of the night, and Dracula himself was a king. Adrian thought he knew, even as he asked it, what the answer would be. He was just hoping for a different one.

But Dracula said; No. I don’t. Even when they were a bane in my plans, I didn’t. I’m not sure if the feeling is something I can describe...

“Hello, Adrian?” Trevor touched Adrian’s shoulder lightly. His eyebrows etched together. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just didn’t think it would work if I was nice about it. Are you alright?”

…I like knowing if, worst comes to worst, there is someone out there who can stop me.

Adrian’s hands drifted from his face. He licked his sharp teeth inside his mouth, as if he were tasting for blood.

“I’m alright,” The dhampir said. “Thank you.”

 

*

 

Dinner was a loud affair.

Lisa fried chicken breast with garlic cloves in oil which spat and popped like a roaring fire. A gramophone crooned lowly in the corner while Dracula drank from a tall, ruby red glass. Trevor and Adrian fought like hungry strays over the wishbone of the chicken and who would get its wish. Dracula took the bone off them when they nearly knocked the table over, sending the meal to the floor.

When the frying was done, Lisa set the fried chicken breasts down on beds of emerald lettuce and pearl-like radish halves. Dracula set out three glasses of orange juice.

“Wow, my favourite,” Trevor explained. His bandage had been removed earlier that evening, and the three scars were pink and tight. They interrupted his silhouette when he turned his head.

“I know,” Lisa said. “It’s because I have an important announcement to make.”

“What is it?” Adrian asked. He lifted a glass of orange juice towards himself.

“We have found a new home for Trevor,” Dracula said. “Where he can live more permanently.”

Trevor looked stunned for a moment, but he recovered. He grinned, “Oh really? What’s it like?”

Adrian glanced between his parents, almost frantically. It took a moment to sink in that they were serious.

Lisa settled down in her chair, “Have you ever heard of the Colamore Mountains?”

“No, are they cool?” Trevor asked.

Lisa laughed, “They’re pretty temperate, actually. Very fertile land, I’ve been there before and the people are every nice…”

His mother continued to talk, but Adrian had tuned her out. A hole had opened up inside him. Trevor asked question after question, and Adrian’s parents took turns answering. The little dhampir swirled his orange juice morosely, and thought sad thoughts.

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i stole "They can’t remember a time before you, so they can’t imagine a time after it either. " from black sails :)

Chapter 7

Notes:

Heyo!

Hopefully you get an email about this chapter. The emails for subscriptions have been annoyingly unpredictable lately.

Parts of this bit are based on the Brothers Grimm stories (not anything like cinderella or rapunzel, the weirder ones) I really wanted to wait until I had this whole arc finished so I could post it as one mega chapter, but as I wrote and the wordcount stretched on and on, I realized this chapter was just way too big. It would be very strange to have a 20k+ update to a fic which sat at 20K beforehand. So I split it :) The next part will arrive soon-ish.

I changed the place name from the Ballyk mountains to the Colamore mountains, because I thought it sounded nicer.

forgive my erratic-ness, but I do 100% want to bring this old thing to a finish sometime :^) Please enjoy!

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Chapter Text

During the next two days, Adrian learned more about the Colamore mountains than he had any desire to know. He sat beside Trevor as they went over a brief history of the area—a dozen years of conflict with the Ashholm clan that was eventually settled firmly by the King, skirmishes with foreign navies. There had been relative peace in Colamore for ten years, excluding a small battle to reclaim Pegasi traitors who had hidden in the mountains.

Physically, it was similar to Wallachia. The people spoke a dialect of the same language. The land was the same grey-green, but the hills were steeper and the flora was darker and wilder. There were more large game, and a few endemic plants that were of noted medical value. Lisa showed them a glass jar filled with yellow-and-green striped dried leaves of the Besom plant which was said to cure deafness, and couple be harvested only in the Colamore slopes.

Trevor was interested. He asked a lot of questions. No, they didn’t hunt creatures of darkness in Colamore, but he could adapt his skills to regular hunting. The fur trade was booming. The Church’s influence dried up a few countries over, but he could become a devotee of a parallel religion if he wished. The land was fertile, the people would be nice, his freedom would be absolute.

Adrian could feel him pulling away. He wanted to make some objection but couldn’t think of anything to say. It wouldn’t be his place to say he’d miss him.

 

*

 

The goodbye was long but inadequate. He hugged Adrian, he hugged Lisa. Dracula got a wave. The castle stayed where it was for a few days, oddly at home with the gloomy Colamore winter. Trevor seemed to find it easy to detach himself. His bags were light, but Lisa gave him enough coin to sustain himself until he could find a more stable employment.

Then the Castle moved. And just like that, Trevor was gone.

 

*

 

It took a while for it to sink in, actually. Adrian always found himself glancing around, as if he heard Trevor’s footsteps. He gradually remembered how to spar by himself. He remembered how to read alone, sitting on windowsills, he remembered how to think slow, deep thoughts, he remembered how to keep himself company.

The weekend after Trevor’s leaving, he turned nine.

 

*

They spent spring on the coast of a dazzling archipelago. It was just before the season turned very hot, and the rolling blue ocean seized and relaxed in rhythm. Palm trees shifted their leaves in the salty wind. Lisa taught Adrian to set up fishing traps to catch the fat, pink fish which were as long as Adrian’s forearm and had chalky flesh which fell right off the thin bones. Vlad stayed inside to avoid the sun.

Summer they spent in Cancrow, where the mountains were coloured by red and purple lichen, like gigantic opaque gems. Vlad helped his wife collect specimens of the phosphorous-rich stone buried under the scrubby trees. Adrian trap a hissing, spitting cat-faced Tatzelwurm slithering over the colourful rocks and had fattened it with enough milk that by the end of the season he wasn’t sure whether he should tame it or eat it. In the end he pulled back the cage door and let it slip, purring, back into the caves.

In Autumn, they settled their castle in the red sands of Uông An, where the sky was an uninterrupted blue, and at night the moon was joined by every star. This season, Adrian spent most of his time studying, perfecting his Purkuon accent. He seriously doubted he would ever finish his studies, or use the language, and the thought made him a little gloomy. Lisa spent her time learning every form of local medicine, which usually resulted in boiling sixteen different types of snake venom in her bronze pots.

Winter found them in Wallachia, again. Lisa visited her old friends, who had been reduced by a mill accident in her absence to just an old woman, her
husband, and their two adult sons. Vlad, in disguise, went to the market. Between the green silks and the saffron cotton robes, Adrian’s thoughts wondered. He really shouldn’t, but he found himself wishing—that Trevor was there with them.

 

*

 

The summer Adrian turned ten, Vlad began his teaching of the demon arts.

These lessons were not normal. There were no recipes to follow, or even forms to master. Adrian had long since become a somewhat adept swordsman, but this learning was not skill-based either. It had been a very long time since he had been a full, embarrassed novice.

Simply put, Adrian had to connect with himself. There was only so much Vlad could guide him.

Magic was slippery. It was like trying to catch a fish out of a dark stream with just his bare hands. He almost never got it right.

Adrian decoded heavy, cumbersome tomes which talked in vague, archaic language about energies and currents and flows. They all related to layman’s magic, which was a derivative of speaker magic—which of course had no books. It all proved somewhat irrelevant to him. He wasn’t a human, and human magic did not work on him. And it had been centuries since Dracula had learned his own magic, he was hardly any help in the matter.

 

*

 

Adrian learned to feel the flow of the world. A part of it. The extra sense was difficult to describe and mostly useless—it interpreted a dark part of him through his human senses—he could feel rising energy as the taste of liquorice under his tongue, he could sense it drop like his stomach flipping over.

When he meditated all day, he could sometimes scrape a different state, where he could sense where his father was. He was often off by a few floors, but he felt it like a hard marble ball in his skull.

This was not unheard of. Dracula’s presence was a black sign, like a second moon. Often, when they travelled to an area where another vampire resided, the dominion vampire would travel quickly to the castle to pay respects even before they had been summoned, to pray that Dracula had not come to seek revenge for some forgotten slight. He was hard to ignore.

What was unheard of—was that Adrian felt his mother just as strongly, like a warmth behind his ear. He could pinpoint her location to a meter, even floors away. This was supposed to be impossible. Normal humans had next to no aura at all.

“Listen, Adrian,” His father said, after Adrian had told him. “Some might say that as a dhampir, you have half a human’s ability, and half a vampire’s. That’s not the case. By all rights, you should be greater than the sum of both parts. By my prediction—your power shall exceed mine, someday.”

 

*

 

Adrian levitated his first sword at twelve.

It was a sensation almost impossible to describe. He could turn it in the air, flip it over and around, as if his mind was a magnet that he could heighten and supress at will. He could make it sing through the air, the metal vibrating like a songbird. He could stop it dead and absorb all momentum.

Aiming was the hard part. With movement in every direction, it was difficult to arrange in such a way that it hit the right part of the target and not two feet off to one side. Distance was hard to judge.

He learned to spar with himself. He learned to manipulate the sword. And if he wished there was someone there to fight with him, he ignored that feeling.

 

*

 

“Show me, then,” Vlad said.

Adrian closed his eyes and let his shoulders relax. Transforming came strangely easy to him. After years of mediating, he found it easier to let the walls and rules of his mind and body ease and dissolve. He had to let himself be yielding, like water, he had to be malleable and surrendering.

His body shifted.

His body felt ripe and overflowing, and white fur burst across his body as his spine lengthened and his leg bones shifted pulled to a sharp, thin line. His face pressed forward as his snout extended.

Adrian opened yellow eyes.

Vlad looked down at the white wolf before him. It was an impressive, beautiful animal, as strong and white as if it had been carved out of snow. He knelt and pulled Adrian into his arms, the soft fur tickling his nose.

“Impressive!” Vlad said into the ruff at the back of Adrian’s long neck, “You are quite a prodigy, my son.”

Adrian let out a short yelp which might have been a word. His tail wagged.

Vlad released him, “We should celebrate. Once we get back from our errand, we should go to Cancrow. I remember you enjoyed it last time.”

Adrian was smiling as he shifted easily back into his normal form. His clothing returned, but his fine dark silks were now covered in a fine sheen of white fur. Something about the statement struck him as odd, “Errand? What errand?”

Vlad paused for a moment, “Ah, yes. Lisa requested I move the castle, so she can collect a few herbs.”

“Move it where?” Adrian asked, standing up.

“Well… the Colamore mountains,” Vlad said.

 

*

 

Colamore was as grey as ever. Fog rested like a shroud over the top of the black mountains. The air was cold and unwelcoming. Adrian followed his mother down the steep stairs, a strange feeling in his gut. He felt vaguely unwell.

Lisa led them to a winding brook, “The Besom plant doesn’t like too much direct sun, but it likes water, so we’re looking for a reliably shadowed area near the river.”

Adrian followed silently.

The river gurgled over the rocks. Adrian watched the water flash in the weak sunlight.

“After this, can I go explore?” Adrian asked.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” Lisa said, crouching by the riverside. “I don’t know if I have time to set all the leaves out to dry and also go out.”

“No, I meant on my own.”

Lisa stepped into the shallows of the river, and the hem of her dress darkened and stuck to her ankles. She frowned back at the water, “Adrian, we’ve talked about this. You’re too young.”

“I could go out on my own in Cancrow,” Adrian said, “and Fichimar!”

“Those were both uninhabited,” Lisa said bent down to inspect the riverbank, “Colamore is full of people. It’s too dangerous.”

“But I’ll be fine!” Adrian insisted. “I’ve learned a lot of the demon arts!”

“Magic is not a replacement for maturity, Adrian,” Lisa’s voice began to betray a little annoyance. “We can’t let you out alone in dangerous places until you’re older.”

“I’m fifteen! I’m older than Trevor was when you sent him away!” Adrian snapped.

“Trevor was not our son,” Lisa’s brow furrowed. “And for that matter he’s not affiliated with Dracula, either. You don’t know just how many enemies your father has, or what could happen if they got a hold of you.”

“I can protect myself,” Adrian insisted. “What’s the point in learning all this crap if I’m never allowed to use it?”

“Adrian—” Lisa said sharply, then sighed, turning back to the bank. “I’m not having this discussion.”

“It was never a discussion anyway!” Adrian turned away, stalking back across the dark grass. “You two just decide whatever you want, and I have to just go along with it!”

“Adrian!” Lisa called, but Adrian did not turn back.

Instead, he continued to stomp towards the treeline. The ground was spongey under his feet and the pools of stagnant water squelched under his shoes. Cold air tugged at his long hair. Just as he was pushing aside a thick bramble, he heard a scream.

Adrian span around.

Lisa stood bolt upright, her head tilted back and a knife at her throat. Behind her, and old woman stood, holding the knife in one hand and a gnarled black broomstick in the other. Her dress was saffron yellow. Despite the water, the hem of the old woman’s dress was bone dry; water seemed to avoid her magnetically.

“Let her go!” Adrian yelled. His voice cracked.

The old woman grinned and cut a small notch into the side of Lisa’s neck. Immediately, Lisa went limp and flopped back against the old woman. The knife was tucked back into a fold of her dress and the old woman lifted Lisa onto her shoulder.

Adrian leaped forwards, sprinting across the wet ground.

Before he reached her, the old woman jumped astride her broomstick and Lisa’s long golden hair flopped against the old woman’s broad back. Her feet left the ground and she bounded into mid-air.

Still running, Adrian threw out a hand and trying to use his magic on the broomstick—but he had never been very good at controlling something he didn’t own. The broomstick barely quivered as it launched into the air.

“Stop! Stop!” Adrian cried.

The hag continued to rise into the air, frighteningly fast, and he was falling behind.

With a grunt, Adrian leaped forwards, and his hands hit the ground as white paws. His wolf form crashed through the undergrowth. His long claws ripped grass from the earth as he sprinted.

It was fiendishly difficult to keep an eye on the witch’s progress, and also look out for obstacles in the forest. Once or twice he only narrowly missed a tree trunk, or a rock and he skidded on wet earth. Brambles tore his fur out in chunks.

Through the gaps in the canopy he watched the witch carry his mother faster and faster. She flew low over the treetops to taunt him, the bristles of her broom shifting like laughter.

And then she swooped up and vanished.

Adrian continued to run, but he had lost sight of them. He couldn’t tell what direction they had gone in. Adrian leapt up and put his forepaws on the black bark of a tree—but the view through the thick canopies was difficult. All he could see was dark leaves and empty sky.

From deep in his chest burst a long, lonely howl.

 

*

 

“I see,” Vlad said.

Adrian watched him very carefully. By then, it was evening, and the light was low. The fireplace flicked gently, shedding lightweight embers which were tossed by the breeze. He could see that his father was trying to restrain a fearful look. Lisa was not magic. She had no particular skill in combat. And despite recognising her need to be independent, Vlad had always worried about her—and now his fears had come true.

“We should head out tonight,” Adrian said. “We can’t wait until morning!”

Vlad straightened up. His long black cloak gave him a sharp silhouette, like a shard of obsidian. “I will find her.”

“Me too,” Adrian insisted, “I’ll help.”

“My son,” Vlad inclined his head. When he approached Adrian, his cloak hardly shifted. He laid a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “I need you to stay here.”

“What?” Adrian yelped. “But I can help!”

“You have helped. If you had not gone with her, I wouldn’t know who had taken her.” Vlad said. “But I cannot lose both of you. You can help by staying here.”

“That’s not fair! What if you need me?” Adrian exclaimed.

“Adrian,” Vlad’s voice became hard and cold. “Just follow my orders.”

Adrian opened his mouth to respond—but before he could there was a flicker of black and Vlad disappeared. Adrian stared at the empty tiles where his father had stood moments before. The fire crackled and popped.

Stiffly, he sat down on the arm of the chair by the fireplace and stared into the lit flame. Anger stewed in his gut, bubbling darkly. Anger—and fear. He should have been able to protect his mother. What good was all this magic and swordsmanship if he couldn’t protect her? He had to make it right.

He had a feeling that his father would not make it in time. How could he find the witch, based on Adrian’s description? All he’d been able to tell him was that it was an old woman with a yellow dress and a broomstick. That could be anyone. Lisa needed to be found, immediately. She could already be hurt.

It was stupid to keep Adrian back. He could help. He was sure he could help. Adrian ground his teeth together. He had to be disobedient—he just had to.

Adrian fetched a leather satchel and filled it with dried meats from the kitchen. He brought a full water skin, his long knives and a loaf of bread. He strapped his sword to his back. Then, taking a moment to glance around the dark castle, he sprinted out, into the night.

 

*

 

Adrian shifted into his wolf form as soon as he crossed into the forest.

His eyes became pin sharp. He returned to the clearing where he had been with Lisa, and her smell was still heavy in the grass. But when the witch had started to fly, he lost her scent. So he followed his own, retracing his path through the undergrowth until he came to the last place he’d seen the witch.

Adrian shifted back into human form to climb the tall tree. When he reached the top, he was disappointed. He hoped to see a witch’s hut, or some sort of trail he could follow. But he saw only dark treetops, and the deep purple sky, studded with stars. The black mountains closed them in on all sides.

Adrian put a hand over his face and shifted just his eyes into wolf form. It was difficult and uncomfortable, but he squinted over the treetops.

There.

A spiral of pale smoke drifted up into the dark night.

It wasn’t much. Somehow, he doubted it was even the witch herself, since it was so obvious. But the owner of the fire might have seen her pass overhead and could help him locate her. Adrian let his eyes return to normal and scrambled back down the tree.

When Adrian hit the forest floor, he turned back into a wolf. He couldn’t afford to be heard approaching.

The undergrowth dripped onto his white pelt and he shivered. Lower down, there was less to obstruct his path and he found he could make his way through the forest as if he belonged there. After a while, he caught the scent of smoke and followed it, moving soundlessly over wet earth.

The forest was larger than he expected. He broke into a jog, paws flicking up wet dirt. He was aware of his brilliantly white he was, almost luminous. His paws flashed across the dark earth. Leaves slapped wetly against his long snout.

The earth closed around his paws.

Adrian saw the ropes of the snare tightening around his legs as he landed and—stupidly—reared back to avoid them. He lost his balance and fell over, paws scrambling on wet earth, as the ropes pulled noose-tight around his legs.

He was flipped upside down as the counterweight triggered. Adrian let out a snapping bark and yanked at his paws, but he couldn’t disentangle himself. He swung sickeningly, suspended from a thick bough.

There was a crunch of undergrowth behind his ears.

Adrian tried to go still, but he still swung uncomfortably. Someone was coming. He couldn’t turn back into a human until he focused and calmed down—and his heart was beating painfully fast. He tried to move to swing around to face them, but that just made his movements more erratic and dizzying.

“Wow, a big one,” A man said. “Nice pelt, too. Easy, boy, easy.”

Adrian’s ears drew back, and he let out a low, menacing growl. He twisted violently, trying to catch a glimpse of the man. He snapped wildly at the cold air.

There was a flash of red cloth, and a knotted bandana closed over his snout, forcing his jaws shut. He struggled desperately against it, but he couldn’t open his mouth. He could old rumble angrily.

Trevor Belmont stepped into his vision.

Adrian was so surprised he went completely lax. For a moment, he wondered if he had been mistaken, but he was completely sure. The man was much older, his white-fur cloak which has dwarfed him as a child now rested comfortably over his broad shoulders. His scars were greyish and old, and he had lost all baby-fat in his cheeks, leaving sharp cheekbones to go with his strong, aquiline nose. But it was definitely him.

Adrian’s ears swivelled forward and he was completely silent and limp. His tail wagged gently.

“What the—?” Trevor took a step back and the red bandana loosened around Adrian’s nose.

Adrian took the opportunity to throw open his jaws, and the red bandana fell to the floor. He licked his black lips, his sharp teeth flashing.

Trevor held his gaze for a long moment, before shook his head. He pulled a knife from his belt, “Look—I don’t suppose you want to be cut up more than anyone else. I get that. But I gotta eat, so, if you could go easy on me, well, I’d appreciate that.”

“Oo, oo, oo—” Adrian cracked his jaws. It was very difficult to speak with a different mouth, he pulled his lips back and forward. “Oooh—ooo—No!”

Trevor stared at him.

“No?” Trevor echoed, bewildered. Then he put a hand over his face. “God, I guess that grog really was bad. That’s the last time I drink that rot-gut.”

Adrian had finally calmed down enough that he could close his eyes and morph back into a human. The counterbalance system broke, and he collapsed in a pile of tangled ropes.

“A—werewolf?” Trevor took a quick step back.

Adrian sat up. His cloak was tangled in the ropes. He met Trevor’s eye.

“A-Adrian?” Trevor stepped forward. He lifted the dhampir up by his armpits, pulling the ropes off him. Adrian wriggled around until the last of the snare was detached from his clothing. Trevor stepped back, holding Adrian’s shoulders. “Damn, it really is you! You’ve grown so much!” Trevor pinched his cheek.

Adrian pushed his hands away, “Don’t do that. Don’t talk to me like I’m a kid.”

Trevor laughed, “OK, puppy-boy. When you come up to my elbow, then we can talk.”

“I come up to your elbow already!” Adrian exclaimed, hotly.

Trevor shook his head and set off into the forest, “Come on, I’ve got a cabin close by. I’ll cook you something.”

Adrian hurried after him. The snares had left uncomfortable bruises on his wrists, and despite himself, he was fiercely glad to see Trevor. The thought of spending a night alone in the dark woods was frightening.

Trevor’s cabin turned out to be a low, dark wood building, the square windows glowing with orange light. Moths danced in the doorway and butted against the glass. The smoke that Adrian had seen from the other side of the forest drifted up from the chimney into the dark night.

“I had some stew cooking,” Trevor said, holding the door open for him, “There should be enough for two.”

As they stepped into his cabin, Adrian felt the temperature rise a few degrees. The fire crackled merrily, embers fizzling out on the stone grate. The thick smell of stew filled the air.

“Thank you,” Adrian said. He followed Trevor’s lead and took his muddy shoes off, stacking them by the door. He made a beeline for the chairs.

“Don’t sit—your clothing is filthy,” Trevor said.

Adrian looked down at his dark tunic, which had grown heavy with mud and wet leaves. He pulled at it half-heartedly.

“Here,” Trevor dug through his cabinet until he pulled out some soft cotton robes. “These should fit alright. Technically, I made these for a village boy, but I can make him another set.”

“You made these?” Adrian picked up the robes and inspected them. They were soft and of a very high quality.

“Yep. What, you can’t imagine me as a seamstress? I’ll have you know my work is highly respected, particularly my leather jackets.” Trevor stood and stretched, “I’ll be outside while you change, since there’s only one room. Call me when you’re done.” He closed the door behind him.

Adrian dressed quickly, leaving his muddy clothes by the door. The clean clothes were warm and soft and only slightly too big. He opened the door to let Trevor back in.

Trevor served two bowls of dark, thick stew. It smelled amazing. Trevor waited until Adrian had a bowl in hand before he asked, “Not that I’m not happy to see you, Puppy, but why are you here?”

Adrian ate a spoonful of thick stew to buy himself some time. The new nickname annoyed him, but more than that, it felt like talking about Lisa would make it… more real somehow. He set the bowl back down on the table and sighed. “My mother was kidnapped.”

“Lisa?” Trevor echoed.

“Yes, Lisa, moron,” Adrian snapped.

“Alright, alright,” Trevor raised a hand. “Do you know who did it?”

“No. Well, I was there,” Adrian said. “It was an old woman. A witch, I think.”

Trevor’s eyebrows raised, “Yellow dress? Broomstick?”

“Yes!” Adrian straightened up. “Do you know her?”

“Aye,” Trevor had a spoon-full of stew. “Your mother was taken by old Sìne. She’s a cruel old woman. She’s stolen a lot of sheep and cows and she’s always threatening to catch people’s children if they stay out too late.”

“Oh,” Adrian said. “Do you know where she lives?”

“I do,” Trevor said. “It might be a little difficult, but I can definitely get us to her castle. I’ll think of something.”

Adrian felt a little better. He had a feeling that Trevor would be able to sort it out. He ate more stew.

“Does your father know you’re here?” Trevor asked.

Adrian’s heart sunk, and he felt a spark of anger, “I don’t have to do what he says all the time.” His voice came out a bit pathetic, even to his own ears.

Trevor raised an eyebrow, “Well, all I need know is whether or not the old Drake himself is going to rid me to shreds for stealing you away.”

“He didn’t last time,” Adrian said, chewing on a particularly tough bit of meat.

“Yeah…” Trevor’s eyes looked a little vacant. “Man, that was a long time ago, huh? I was such a little cocky bastard. I can’t believe I thought I could fend off Dracula himself.”

“I get the feeling you would still do that,” Adrian said, finishing his stew. The meaty meal had made him feel better.

“Eh? Well, yeah,” Trevor collected their empty bowls. “I would succeed these days, though. That’s the difference.”

“Is that so?” Adrian asked.

Trevor grinned at him. He washed up the bowls quickly. He pulled a fire grate around so he could lay Adrian’s wet, muddy clothes over the fire to dry. From the cabinet, he pulled down extra sheets and blankets, which he laid on the floor. Adrian took a chance to look around. Despite how small the cabin was, it was clean and cosy, well insulated and warm. Several well-read books rested on the shelves.

Trevor finished setting out the blankets, “I’ll sleep on the floor. You take the bed.”

“No, I’m the guest, so I should have to sleep on the floor,” Adrian said.

Trevor smirked at him, “Aww, does puppy wanna sleep by the fire?”

“No!” Adrian snapped indignantly, and jumped into bed, pulling the covers over himself. The covers where pleasantly heavy, and he felt feather down in the pillows. He then felt slightly silly at being so easily manipulated, but he quickly got over that when he realised how comfortable the bed was.

Trevor snuffed out the lantern.

Adrian peered at him through the darkness, and found that once again, his human eyes were lacking. He closed them and opened his wolf eyes. Trevor had grown up. It was a surprise; in Adrian’s head, Trevor had remained a skinny thirteen-year-old for all these years. By Adrian’s calculation, he must be eighteen or nineteen by now. His shoulders were broad, and he was tall, almost as tall as Vlad. He even had a light dusting of stubble around his jaw.

It seemed immensely unfair to Adrian—that Trevor was a man now while Adrian was still a kid. His eyes slid shut.

 

*

 

“Goood morning!” The covers were yanked from Adrian’s head.

Adrian growled, sitting bolt upright. Lantern light flashed in his eyes, and he slapped a hand over his temporarily blinded eyes. He had a slight dizzy feeling.

“Wow, that was crazy!” Trevor said. “Your eyes flashed! Could they do that before? I’ve never noticed that.”

“They were my wolf eyes,” Adrian hissed. His eyes returned to human, and he found he could see again. “It’s eyeshine.”

Trevor leaned back, the lantern swinging from his hand. He considered Adrian for a moment, before he announced, “Eyeshine? You’re kind of creepy, kid.”

Adrian peered through his fingers angrily.

“Oh, the good kind of creepy, don’t worry,” Trevor grinned apologetically. “My social skills aren’t very good this season. I do live alone in a cabin in the woods and talk to the walls during the winter, so you’ll have to forgive me.”

Adrian grunted, massaging his temples, “It’s fine.”

Trevor set the lantern on the bedside table. The sky outside was mostly dark, the barest hints of dawn creeping over the treetops. Adrian rubbed his eyes and swung his legs around the edge of the bed. Trevor cracked open a trunk which lay in front of his cabinet. The fire had been recently put out, and the room smelled of wet ash.

“It’s really early,” Adrian yawned.

“Yep. But we need to start early,” Trevor said. He pulled out a pale leather jacket and presented it to Adrian, “Put this on.”

Adrian pulled the jacket over his cotton shirt and fastened it. When Trevor handed him wool breeches, he pulled them on over his cotton trousers. Both fit snugly. Socks were next, and Trevor handed him two pairs. He pulled them on diligently.

“You’ll have to wear your muddy shoes.” Trevor said, handing them to him.

Adrian laced up his boots and followed Trevor out. Trevor locked the cabin. The world was still cold and sleeping, and Adrian felt a low, nagging fatigue. He was glad of his many layers of clothes.

“This is the last piece,” Trevor pulled a cloak he’d draped over his elbow and draped it around Adrian’s shoulders.

Adrian tied the fastening at his neck. The cloak was a deep maroon. He spun a little and watched the deep red folds flow together and apart.

Trevor smiled, “You look cute.”

Adrian froze. The comment struck him as very strange, and he didn’t know how he felt about it. Mostly, he was annoyed. “What are we going to do?”

“Well, I have a plan,” Trevor said. “I don’t think you’ll like it, though. Old Sìne doesn’t let anyone into her castle unless they pass three impossible tasks, set by her taskmaster, Barabal.”

“So, are we going to sneak in?” Adrian asked. He followed Trevor through the treeline.

“Sneak in? Past the witch?” Trevor shook his head. “No, the only way to win is play the game. Barabal is a strong woman; she has the swiftest arm of anyone in the region, man or woman, and twice the cunning. The three tasks are the same each time: You have to grip a stone so tightly it weeps water, you have to throw something further than her, and you have to subdue a feral animal with the touch of your hand.”

“Those are ridiculous,” Adrian groaned.

“That’s the idea,” Trevor said. “But I need your help with one. I can do the rest.”

“Which task?” Adrian asked.

Trevor eyed him, “Tell me, do your clothes get dirty when you’re in a wolf form?”

“What?” Adrian narrowed his eyes. “Are you serious? You want me to pretend to be an animal?”

“You know, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Adrian huffed, folding his arms, “This will never work.”

“It might. It depends.”

“On what?” Adrian glared at him.

“Well, Puppy,” Trevor grinned, “are you feral or tame?”

 

*

 

Adrian let himself get captured by the trap Trevor indicated on the map. Being suspended upside down the second time wasn’t as scary. Mostly it was boring. When they came to collect him, he struggled enough to make it seem realistic, but he allowed himself to be put into a wrought iron cage on the back of a wagon.

As they rode into town, Adrian stood up in the back of the wagon and pushed his snout through the bars to get a good look at the town. It was relatively run down, not nearly as build up as Wallachia. The inhabitants shared Trevor’s colouration. It was clear why he had settled in so easily. He caught the scent of a bakery and his stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten breakfast.

The wagon stopped at the side of a fountain, and he heard the sounds of the men climbing off the wagon behind him. He lay down but growled at them as they passed him. He flicked his pale white tail and it thumped on the wood.

“Lady Barabal!” One of the men exclaimed.

Adrian’s ears pricked up.

“Good morning,” A cool voice floated over to Adrian. “I assume this is the animal you collected for me?”

“Yes, this is him!” The man said. “Very powerful animal.”

“Is it sufficiently wild?”

“Yes, he’s vicious.”

“Let me see,” There was a shuffle of cloth, and Barabal stepped in front of his nose.

Adrian reared backwards, a low growl rising in his throat. His ears pulled back and his hackles raised.

Barabal was a beautiful woman, with a strait, shallow nose and dark, expressive eyes. She regarded Adrian impassively. “It is certainly impressive.”

“He is!” The man stepped into view beside her, “Tell me, it’s been a while since anyone challenged you. Is it another traveller?”

“It is Trevor Belmont,” Barabal said.

The man’s face fell slightly, “Oh. Well… I know it’s not my place, but, should he fail—”

“Should he fail, a punishment must be meted out,” Barbal said. She smoothed a hand down her dark velvet dress. Adrian flicked his yellow eyes over her. She had broad shoulders, but not the muscle he would expect a strongwoman to have. She must use some kind of magic.

“I u-understand that, my lady,” the man said, “but perhaps in this case you could be lenient? Belmont has helped the village greatly. When my sister has ratpox, he made an ointment which healed—”

“Enough,” Barabal held up a hand. “Trevor Belmont knows what his consequences for challenging me will be, and he will face the same punishment when he fails. I am sure he will still be some use as a healer after I have put out his eyes.”

A sharp spike of anger lanced through Adrian and he lunged forward, snapping at the bars. His jaws closed around the iron bars and he shook them, hard.

Barbal startled, and a smile graced her perfectly proportioned features. “Good. I was worried it was a little too docile. I will see it at the courtyard in a few house. You will receive the same payment as usual.”

 

*

When the sun was high in the sky, Adrian’s cage was left on the corner of the courtyard, in front of a small, grey castle which seemed to have no doors or windows. There was a broad, clear fountain in the where the mouth of the castle should be. The sky was clear, and the sun shone strongly, but even though his thick fur, he felt chill. He couldn’t stretch out, cooped up in his cage, and he felt his annoyance bloom into full anger. He could see how Barabal kept her animals wild and angry in a cage like that.

“Trevor Belmont,” Barabal said, her clear voice ringing across the courtyard like a hammer fall.

“That’s me,” Trevor said. He was carrying only a small leather satchel over one shoulder. There was a small crowd around, standing at a respectable distance.

“You know the three tasks presented before you,” Barabal said, “To grip a stone so tightly it weeps water, To throw something further than I, and to have to subdue a feral animal with the touch of your hand. I will perform each task first, to show that they are fair and just. If you succeed, you may talk to my mistress, the woman known as Old Sìne. If you fail, I will pluck out your eyes and eat them.”

Adrian shifted around in his cage, restlessly. Devil. She was a devil. He wished he could bite her—a thought which showed he was spending too long in a wolf form.

“I understand,” Trevor said. “Let’s skip the rest of the preamble. I want to see you squeeze that stone.”

Barabal’s eyes narrowed slightly. She picked up a random stone from the courtyard floor. There seemed to be nothing different about the stone, but Adrian’s sharp eyes caught a glimpse of black writing on her palm. Runes.

Barabal held the stone high and tightened her grip sharply. Water dribbled between her fingers. She let the stone go, and it clattered to the ground in pieces.

“Impressive,” Trevor said.

“Thank you,” Barabal said, flatly. She gestured. “Your turn, Belmont.”

Trevor nodded. Then he walked to the fountain. From the bed of the fountain, he pulled a stone, cupped between two hands. He returned to his position opposite Barabal and held the stone in one hand, squeezing tightly. Water dribbled from his fingers. He dropped it.

As the stone rolled around, Adrian saw it was an Adder stone—full of worn holes.

Barabal looked completely impassive, but a muscle tightened under her right eye. “Next round, then. I doubt you will pass this.”

“Don’t count your chickens yet,” Trevor said.

Barabal ignored him. From her bag, she drew an iron club. She took this in her other hand, also covered by runes. She swung it once around her head and released it. The club arced over the buildings in the village and continued to fly. There was a satisfying crunch as it finally came back to earth, splitting a tree in half.

Barabal looked back at him.

“Pretty good,” Trevor said. “I can do better.”

Barabal stepped aside to let Trevor stand on the mark.

From his satchel, Trevor drew—a bird in a cage. He opened the door and took the small animal in his hand, drew his arm back, and tossed it into the air. It flew over their heads, over the village houses, and over the forest. And kept flying.

“Nice, eh?” Trevor said.

Barabal looked a little murderous. It took her a moment to regain her composure. “Perhaps you’ve done well. Unfortunately, you won’t succeed at the final task.”

“Oh, insecure because nobody’s gotten this far before?” Trevor asked. “That’s cute.”

Barabal stalked towards Adrian’s cage. Adrian reared up and growled at her, hackles rising again.

“I will tame this animal,” Barabal announced, stretching out a hand. This close, Adrian could read the old Abranus tattooed to her palm which read simply: SUBMIT. She pulled the cage door open.

Adrian leaped forward, fully intending to act feral—when a wall of molasses hit him.

He couldn’t move well. It was as if he was enveloped in a wave of warm water, and he struggled against the comforting depths. Barabal looked at him impassively. Adrian couldn’t attack such a beautiful woman. His ears swivelled forwards and his shoulders relaxed.

Barabal smiled, very slightly, and approached him. She stretched out a hand, to stroke his head.

It was only chance—that he glanced across the courtyard and caught Trevor’s eye. He saw fear. Trevor was pleading with his eyes—resist, resist.

Adrian struggled forward. Resisting was almost impossible. It felt like a heavy weight was bearing down on him. With a final burst of strength, he sunk his teeth into Barabal’s outstretched palm.

Barabal screamed.

Immediately, the spell was dispelled, and Adrian was stunned by the control rushing back. He bit harder down on Barabal, until he realised what he was doing and released her. She scrambled away, clutching her bloody hand.

Adrian turned his attention to Trevor and padded over to him, tail wagging. Trevor knelt and pulled him into a hug. Adrian rested his huge paws on Trevor’s shoulder.

“Good puppy,” Trevor scratched behind Adrian’s ears. “Nice puppy.”

Adrian’s tail wagged enthusiastically.

Across the courtyard, Barabal staggered to her feet, clutching her bloody hand. “No! That’s not fair. You can’t have won!”

“Accept it, Babs,” Trevor straightened up. Adrian leaned against his legs. “You lost, fair and square.”

“You cheated,” Barabal cried, her voice strained. “You che—”

“Oh, give it up, Barabal,” A strong, weathered voice echoed across the courtyard.

All eyes turned to the featureless castle, which had grown a door while they weren’t looking. Old Sìne stood on the stoop of her castle, wearing a deep yellow dress which fell in coils around her thickly wrinkled ankles. Her dark hair was pulled into a knot, threaded through with grey.

“Lady Sìne,” Barabal slurred. “It wasn’t my fault! I—”

“What did I just say?” Old Sìne cackled. “You have too much hot blood. You lost, Barabal. These two young men deserve an audience with me.”

Barabal glanced at Trevor and Adrian, “Two?”

Old Sìne cackled again, grating, like coins in a metal jar, “What a pair they make. The last roughhewn Belmont, and a false wolf with a bloody jaw. Hunter and the prey. Well, I welcome you into my halls.” She threw open the heavy wooden doors behind her and stepped into the black interior.

Adrian waited a moment, and then released the magic. He morphed back to human. His fine maroon cloak only had the dust of the courtyard on it. He straightened up.

“Are you ready?” Trevor asked.

Adrian gave him a strange look, “Obviously.”

“Aye, obviously,” Trevor nodded and led them into the halls of Old Sìne.

Chapter 8

Notes:

heyo another really long chapter, posted at a random time on a random day, you know the drill people. love you all hope you enjoy it :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The halls of Old Sìne arch above them like the ribcage of some great whale, the reddish wood polished to an architecture of great curves and sweeping lines. It was dimly lit, and the shapes of the ceiling were difficult to make out properly. The building was cold and foreboding.

“Come, children,” Old Sìne beckoned the two of them inside, “Sit at my parlour.”

Trevor and Arian sat at the great dark table. The table was laid with dozens of brass pots and bowls and jugs all containing various dark, slimy meals. Adrian felt anger boiling in the base of his gut.

“You have earned your seats at my table,” Old Sìne said, taking her seat at the head of the table. “You have the right to ask a deal of me.”

“You’ve taken my mother,” Adrian growled. “I want her back.”

“Oh, that pretty washerwoman was your mother?” Old Sìne ran a gnarled hand over her chin. “She’s fine, sleeping in my dungeons. It’s her fault for stealing my herbs. I planted them there for a reason.”

“You—!” Adrian wanted to leap at her, but Trevor pulled his elbow. With a huff, he sat back down.

“We’re willing to make a deal for Lisa’s whole and safe return,” Trevor said. “That’s why we’re here. To broker a deal.”

Old Sìne watched him from under heavy eyelids. She dragged a spoon through the brass bowl of thick, congealed liquid in front of her. “What would you give, to get your mother back?”

“Anything,” Adrian said, immediately.

Trevor glanced at him, panic flashing in his eyes, “Uh—um, by Anything, he means—"

“Anything?” Old Sìne smiled, wickedly.

A cool hush fell over the witch’s parlour. Adrian felt that he had made a grave error. He stared, hard, at Old Sìne, who considered him for a moment. A clock chimed in the depths of her castle and there was the muffled sound of footsteps on stone.

“For the safe and whole return of your mother,” Old Sìne drawled. “I demand three golden hairs from the head of the Devil of Colamore.”

“The Devil…” Adrian echoed breathlessly.

“The very same,” Old Sìne said.

Adrian glanced over at Trevor. Trevor looked pained, but he nodded, “Thank you. We will return in a month with them.”

“Three days,” Old Sìne said.

“Six,” Trevor suggested, “Adrian here is a foreigner, it will take him a while to even find—”

“If you try to barter, boy, I will ask for your head for your troubles.” Old Sìne smiled humourlessly, showing yellow teeth. “I’m a little old woman. My time is very precious.”

Trevor said nothing for a long moment. Finally, he nodded, “I appreciate your candour. We will return in three days will the hairs, to exchange for Lisa.”

“Good,” Old Sìne said. “I expect you to. Barabal will make the exchange. Don’t worry—she won’t hold a grudge.”

Trevor stood up.

“Wait!” Adrian said, standing, “How do we even know Lisa’s alright? What if Sìne has injured her?”

“My boy,” Old Sìne’s smile grew colder, “Are you calling me a liar?”

Trevor stepped in front of Adrian, as if to shield him from the witch’s glare. “No, he’s not calling you a liar. He’s not.”

“I want proof,” Adrian peered around Trevor’s elbow. “Let me see her!”

“How impudent,” Old Sìne showed her teeth, “If you apparently can’t trust my word, we cannot have a deal after all. Perhaps your mother will end up in my soup instead.”

“You’re evil!” Adrian said, “How dare you—”

“No!” Trevor slapped a hand over his mouth and held him fast. Adrian scrambled against his hand before he relented, glaring daggers at the old woman. Trevor smiled apologetically at Old Sìne. “He doesn’t mean that.”

“He said it,” Old Sìne said, haughtily. “I do not need to listen to a little piping sparrow hurl such accusations at me and disgrace my hospitality.”

“He phrased it badly,” Trevor said, thinking quickly. “He only meant—well, when performing a sale, isn’t it normal to want to see the item in question? If I was finding something in exchange for a horse or a cow, I would want to see the animal—even if the seller was a very reputable and trustworthy woman such as yourself. It’s only natural, I apologise if he misspoke.”

Old Sìne sat back in her chair and considered that for a moment.

Keeping a hand over Adrian’s mouth, Trevor continued, “Forgive Adrian’s youthful indiscretion. He became overcome with emotion. Hysterical. You know how it is, with someone’s mother in question.”

“I don’t actually. My own mother tried to boil me in her big cooking pot,” Old Sìne said, but her voice was calmer. “But I will forgive him.”

“Thank you,” Trevor said, and finally released Adrian, who took a few quick steps away, wiping his chin. He said nothing but glared darkly.

“Here,” Old Sìne pulled a slim object from the folds of her dress and tossed it over to them. Trevor caught it. “Just this, and nothing more. No more demands.”

“That’s fine,” Trevor said, pulling Adrian out of the great doors. “We’ll return with the hairs. See you then.”

 

*

 

Trevor wouldn’t let him look at the object Old Sìne had given them until they were out of the courtyard. Adrian snatched it out of his hands.

It was an oval-shaped, mahogany mirror, the glass crusted at the corners with the mould. Instead of his reflection, he could see a grey stone room with daylight falling from a high, arrow-slit window. Lisa lay on a white bed, under thin covers. Her hair spread out in glinting gold from her hair.

“Hey!” Adrian called, and shook the mirror. Lisa didn’t stir. “She can’t hear me.”

“No. It’s a looking glass,” Trevor said. “And besides, it looks like Lisa is in a magical slumber.”

“A magic slumber?” Adrian echoed, staring down at the miniature image of his mother. “Witches can do that?”

“Yup. You haven’t heard many folk tales, have you?” Trevor asked. He steered them towards a small stall selling baked goods.

“Why would I want to?” Adrian huffed.

“Well, with the situation we’re in right now, it would help,” Trevor turned to the seller, a young woman with bright ginger hair. “Hey, Chel. Can I get a few rolls for the road?”

“Trevor!” The seller, Chel, smiled at him. “Of course you can. I didn’t expect you to come back to town before spring. Who’s this cute little fella?”

“I’m not cute,” Adrian snapped.

Chel beamed at him, “My mistake, little man. Any allergies?”

“No,” Adrian said, quietly.

“He’s my cousin,” Trevor lied smoothly. He pulled a satchel of coins from inside his jacket pocket. “How are you, Chel?”

“Ah, no worse than normal,” Chel said. “Hey, could you re-splint my brother’s arm later? It’s gotten a little loose while he was wrangling sheep.” She wrapped a package of bread in paper.

“Sorry, we’re in a hurry,” Trevor held out an assortment of coins.

“No worries,” Chel took the coins and dropped the small bag of bread into his arms. “Safe travels!”

Trevor nodded goodbye and put the bread into his satchel. He set off towards the edge of town, heading away from the dark mountains and towards the thicker, darker forest. Trevor handed Adrian one of the rolls, which he accepted happily.

“You’re a healer,” Adrian said, around a mouthful of bread.

“Yeah, sorta,” Trevor scratched the back of his neck. “Not as good as your mom. But I know somethings, and there’s nobody else to do it. It’s kind of nice.”

Adrian watched him for a moment, as he walked. Then he blurted out: “How did you know you could cheat?”

“What?” Trevor blinked.

“With the impossible tasks,” Adrian explained. “Barabal could do those things through magic—she was really doing those things. But you cheated.”

“Well, I didn’t cheat,” Trevor said. “I was imaginative in my interpretation of the tasks. I really did squeeze a stone until it wept, I did throw something further than her and I tamed a beast. What part of that is cheating?”

“You were using different things to her,” Adrian insisted. He couldn’t quite articulate what he was trying to say. “She didn’t mean for you to be able to do that stuff. You weren’t being fair.”

Trevor looked down at him for a moment, considering him. He ran a hand through his raven hair. “If that’s cheating, then I needed to cheat. For Lisa’s sake.”

Adrian huffed, “I know that! I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, just— it’s a risk.”

“Everything’s a risk,” Trevor said. “Humans are weak to the forces of darkness and evil. Even me, with all my training, it would only take a lucky strike to knock me down for good. So I’ve got to be cheating and creative and cunning and devious. I can’t be stronger than a Devil, but I can always outsmart them.”

“Always?” Adrian echoed.

Trevor raised an eyebrow, “Your father’s an exception, Adrian. Most vampires are dunces. What consists of a good game plan for them is swooping down and stabbing people at random. As brains go—they’re a few arrows short of a quiver.”

By then, they had walked out of town. The grass was grey-brown and soggy, and the weeds shot up at right angles. Trevor swept his arms out, gesturing to the village.

“Take this place for an example,” Trevor said. “Old Sìne has magic that Dracula has never heard of. She’s human, but she’s probably as old as he is. He could never find this area or enter it; it’s hidden from creatures of darkness.”

“I could enter it,” Adrian protested.

“You’re human,” Trevor said, dismissively.

Adrian blinked. He narrowed his eyes, “Could Vlad really never find this place?”

“Aye, he doesn’t know everything. I’ll bet he didn’t bother researching places like this because he thinks Colamore is still stuck in the dark ages,” Trevor shook his head. “There is nobody so blind as he who does not want to see.”

Adrian glanced around the grey landscape. He did feel the prickle of wards at the edge of his perception. Then it was a good thing, after all, that he had disobeyed his father. The knowledge didn’t make him feel less guilty. He pulled out the mirror from his bag and watched his mother sleep silently. She looked unharmed, as far as he could tell, and her face was unmarred by trouble or distress. Perhaps she wasn’t even dreaming. He tucked it back in.

“Could we trick Old Sìne?” Adrian asked. “My hairs are gold. We could pull out a couple and give them to her.”

“Perhaps, as a last resort,” Trevor inclined his head. “But it’s pretty risky. You wouldn’t want her to give you back a false mother as a response.”

Adrian nodded. The very thought of that made him go cold.

“Don’t worry,” Trevor said. “She won’t have given us a task we can’t complete. I’ve heard of the Devil of Colamore. I know he lives to the north.”

“And we just ask him nicely for some hairs?” Adrian frowned.

“I was thinking of knocking him out and stealing them,” Trevor said. “But sure, we can ask nicely first.”

Adrian finished the rest of his bread. With food in him, he felt better. A little of the itchy anxiety receded from him. He pulled out his mirror again to look at his mother. She slept on, undisturbed by the world. Relieved, he tucked the mirror back into his bag.

By the by, they came to a crossroads. An old man sat on a large boulder, dressed in dark blue robes. He scratched his temple. It was as if he’d been waiting for them.

“Hello,” Trevor smiled. “You wouldn’t happen to know where we could find the Devil of Colamore lives?”

“What do you know?” The old man asked. His voice was deep and strong.

“Pardon?” Trevor asked.

“What do you know?” The old man asked, again.

Trevor glanced at Adrian, frowning. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“I know everything,” Adrian said.

Trevor’s eyes went wide, “Adrian—” Adrian elbowed him in the ribs, and he went quiet, irritated.

“Everything?” The old man grunted. “So you can answer my question? If you can, I will tell you were the Devil lives.”

“Yes, I can,” Adrian said, ignoring Trevor’s dark look.

“Ah, there is a well in my village. Once it sprouted clear and pure water, but now it is dry as a bone. My family suffer greatly. Tell me, do you know why that is?”

“I do,” Adrian said. “I know why. I will tell you when I return from my visit to the Devil.”

The old man nodded, as if he had been expecting such an answer. He pointed at the road that went on, towards the lowlands, “Travel that way. Pass the rose trees and continue on your way.”

“Thank you,” Trevor said, and steered Adrian quickly away.

Adrian shook him off indignantly.

“What was that?” Trevor hissed under his breath, “You’re lying—you have no idea why the well is dry! That was so risky!”

“Everything’s a risk,” Adrian echoed back at him, slyly.

Trevor shot him a withering look, “You’re such a little bastard. Remember you’re a novice at this, your role isn’t to act like a cute dullard.”

“I’m not cute!” Adrian said, indignantly. His cheeks flushed.

“True, you’re a little off-putting,” Trevor said, “Though, one out of two ain’t bad.”

Adrian growled angrily and swung at him, but Trevor avoided his fists gracefully.

As they walked, the sun sunk lower in the sky. The land around them softened from steep hills to gradual inclines. The trees in this area were shorter and thinner, the skinnier, wilting cousins of the thickset forest trees.

So they came to a bridge, and on it sat a mournful-looking woman, with an empty basket at her feet.

“Hello,” Trevor said. “Can you let us over the bridge? We are travelling to the Devil’s house.”

“What do you know?” The woman asked. She didn’t raise her eyes from the ground by their feet.

“I know everything,” Adrian assured her.

“Oh, my dear apple tree. For once its boughs bloomed fat, juicy apples, now it doesn’t even flower,” The woman sighed. “Do you know why?”

“I do,” Adrian said, “I will tell you when I return from the Devil’s house.”

The woman nodded, and stood up, letting them onto the bridge, “Travel towards the great lake. The Devil’s house lies on the opposite bank.”

“Thank you,” Trevor said.

The pair of them passed across the bridge and continued through the wilderness. As they walked, the land grew darker, and a fog began to gather around them. The air was colder. Adrian drew his cloak tighter around him.

There was a foreboding feeling in the air, heightened when they saw the scope of the lake. It was a flat plane, huge and mirrorlike, like a great sheet of glass. Even Adrian’s keen eyes could not see the other side. Fog clouded the air.

“Hello!” Trevor called, as he spotted the dark shape of a man on the shoreside. “Could you ferry us to the other side of this lake?”

The oarman was a working man, maybe forty or fifty, with calloused fingers and a weather-beaten face. His hair was thin and dark. “What do you know?”

“I know everything,” Adrian said.

The oarman looked down at the oar in his hands, “I am an oarman. All I can do is row from one side of this great lake to the other. Tell me, do you know how I can break this curse?”

“I know,” Adrian said, “I will tell you when I return from the Devil’s house.”

The oarman accepted his answer and allowed them to climb into his boat. It bobbed under their weight. There was a chill hanging over the water, which sucked at Adrian’s skin. Cold washed over the both of them.

The oarman pushed the boat out.

Icy water lapped over the bow of the boat. Water parting for them gave the sound of silks sliding over each other.

“Do you know anything about the Devil?” Adrian asked the oarman.

The oarman slid his black eyes over to Adrian but said nothing. His mouth was lined at the corners, and perpetually downturned. After a long look, his eyes drifted back to the lake water.

Adrian glanced at Trevor.

“He won’t be much of a talker,” Trevor said.

“You know him?” Adrian asked.

Trevor raised a shoulder in a half-shrug, “I don’t have to. Doesn’t it strike you as somewhat odd? Questions phrased so similarly—and three of them, that’s a sure sign.”

“Three?” Adrian echoed. “What’s special about three?”

“It’s the holy number,” Trevor frowned, “You’ve never been to church?”

You’ve been to church?” Adrian narrowed his eyes.

Trevor hesitated, and then grinned, “That’s a fair point, but the Belmonts are actually Christian. Even if they’re the wrong sort of Christian these days. Anyway—three’s a sign of magic, usually in a blessing. My father used to explain it as the lowest balancing number, a stool with less than three legs won’t stand. Too many legs on a stool waste wood for little gain. It’s the same with magic, you’re always looking for something simple and stable.”

“I’ve never heard of that in my books,” Adrian said, a little irritated. The idea of strength in threes seemed to make sense to him, on an instinctive level.

“That’s because my people did everything they could to stop Dracula getting that knowledge,” Trevor waved a hand. “He told us himself, he’s been skimming the libraries, universities and alchemy houses of empires as they rose and fell. He didn’t invent his heating pots or his glass-blown flasks. He’s been a fat tick on the side of humanity’s mind. Um—no offense.”

Adrian shook his head, “It’s fine. Do you remember a lot of this stuff?”

“A fair amount,” Trevor said. “I could never quite hack it at magic, but I’ve got a mind like a sponge.”

Adrian nodded. The oarman dipped the oar back into the dark water and pulled them onwards. Cold water dotted Adrian’s sleeve.

“So, you think the people we met on the way here are… fake? Made up by Old Sìne?” Adrian hedged.

“Maybe,” Trevor said. “Or maybe, it just happens naturally, because magic is involved. Strong magic has a tendency to pull things together. The power of three is probably why you can do magic so young.”

“Huh? Really?” Adrian frowned.

“Sure,” Trevor shifted against the side of the boat, straightening up. “You’re not just half a vampire and half a human, are you? You’re a human, a vampire and a dhampir. You’re both and you’re something else.”

Adrian felt a surprisingly rush of warmth in his chest, “Oh. This whole time I thought I wasn’t—that I didn’t get to be human.”

“That’s stupid,” Trevor shook his head, “What signs are you looking for? You’re growing, your heart’s beating, you need to eat and sleep just like a normal kid your age. What’s not human about that?”

Adrian felt a little breathless. He looked away.

The boat carved a path across the still lake. Water lapped at the sides. The boat was so small that no position was comfortable to sit in.

“Why are you here anyway?” Trevor asked. “Why’d you come back to Colamore?”

Adrian started. He had almost forgotten, “Besom plant. We’d run out.”

Trevor stared at him for a moment, before he cleared his throat and looked away. “Well, damn.”

“What?” Adrian frowned.

“Besom, huh?” Trevor scratched his jaw. “I’m guessing you don’t actually use it much.”

“I have no idea,” Adrian folded his arms. “What’s wrong with it?”

Trevor scratched the back of his neck, oddly embarrassed, “Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s just that… well, I’m the reason you ran out of it.”

“What?” Adrian asked.

“I took it with me,” Trevor said. “I left a few leaves so it wouldn’t be suspicious. But I thought, if you had to come to Colamore to collect the more leaves, I might…”

“You wanted to come back?” Adrian’s eyebrows shot up.

“I don’t know what I wanted,” Trevor leaned back, the hood of his cloak getting dangerously close to the waterline. “That was my problem, when I was younger, all my wants were so messy. I could never decide anything, and I never wanted to let anything go. Though, if Lisa could teach me more medicine…”

Adrian watched him.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” Trevor cracked a grin. “I’m too old now anyway. It’s not like I’m miserable here. No use getting caught up in what might have been.”

Adrian narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, before he glanced away.

The boat cut through the still water. The oarman turned like a stern, dipping the oar in and out. The shadows they cast were thin and through the dark of the water Adrian saw fish flash in the depths. A heron swooped silently through the thickness of the fog, like a low-flying kite.

Anonymous, dark shapes stained the fog at the corners of the horizon. With no solid landmarks and a hidden sun, it was hard to know how much time was passing. The silence weighed over the lake like a cold blanket.

As they passed across the lake, Trevor told him about a young man who could not shiver went through three challenges to learn what fear was. He talked about a cat who hid a knife in her straight tail, a miller’s son who had his hands cut off to keep them free of sin. A barber who tricked a lion out of his path and a fox rejects all the fox suitors that have fewer than nine handsome tails. There are few similarities between the stories that Adrian can see beyond a wiliness, a wicked intelligence, where the meek trick the strong.

Somewhere, the sun set. The lake grew darker and darker, colder and colder, until the black water seemed to surround them. Trevor had a small travel lantern, which he lit. It cast a very fragile, pale glow, barely more than a shade of difference.

Finally, the opposite shore came into focus from underneath the heavy fog. The oarman didn’t increase his pace, and it was a long while until the boat bumped up against the shoreline.

“Thank you,” Adrian stood and bowed, “We’ll be back soon. Please wait for us here.”

The oarman made no sign that he even heard the young dhampir. Trevor climbed out of the boat, the dark water lapping at his ankles as he walked up, onto dry land.

“Come on, kiddo,” Trevor beckoned, and Adrian jumped after him. The earth was very dark and hard, and if he didn’t hear mud clots scattering, he might think it was stone.

The pair of them had to feel their way around. A cliff rose up from the mud beneath them. It must be limestone, its side was so smooth. Adrian shifted his eyes into wolf form, and led Trevor to a small enclave, a fault in the bottom of the cliff.

“Here’s the last of our food,” Trevor said, splitting the bread between them.

Adrian hadn’t realised how hungry he had become until he began to eat. He devoured the bread quickly and found it lacking. He felt like snuffling around for crumbs, but resisted the urge. Trevor finished eating.

“Hmm,” Trevor settled in the cold stone, “Do you know any elemental magic? We could do with a little fire just about now.”

“No,” Adrian said, sitting on his knees, “Vampire magic is not like that. Do you know any?”

“I wish.” Trevor stretched out on the hard, cold stone. “We’ll just have to wait until morning.”

Adrian watched him with yellow eyes.

It was too dark for Trevor to see him, so Trevor’s eyes were fixed on the dark stone above his head. Adrian shifted his eyes back to see as he saw, a mysterious cluster of dark shapes and shadowy lines. But in truth, that still wasn’t close, even Adrian’s human sense were sharper than Trevor’s.

“You know,” Trevor said, startling him out of his thoughts. “My family knew elemental magic. I could take you back to my estate, I could help you learn.”

Adrian was speechless for a moment. His heart stuttered. “You’d do that? For me?”

“Sure,” Trevor rested his face into the crook of his arm and tugged his cloak tighter around him. “I’ve thought about those books, moulding away where nobody can find them. I think it’s sort-of sad.”

Adrian leaned on his wrists, sitting like a dog, eyes fixed on Trevor. The man settled down and went still. His breathing evened out. After waiting a moment, Adrian shifted into wolf form. Even in the dark, his white pelt was luminous. He padded over and curled up at Trevor’s side.

 

*

 

Trevor woke up as the sun was filtering through the fog. He was squished between a huge canine and the stone wall, and it took a long time to extract himself. His cloak was pinned under Adrian’s great, fluffy side.

“Up and at ’em, buddy,” Trevor scratched behind Adrian’s ears.

Adrian lifted his great head and yawned, showing off every one of his huge, sharp teeth. He fixed Trevor with a tired look. Then his ears pinned back, his eyes went wide—and with a cough he shifted back into human form.

“Come on,” Adrian coughed, cheeks burning, and bounded out of the enclave.

The cold air hit his face. Adrian had to skid to a stop to avoid dashing into the water. Trevor padded out after him, stretching and yawning. He turned and took in the cliffside in the light of day.

“Oh,” Trevor said, weakly.

It wasn’t a cliffside. It was a huge castle.

Adrian glanced over the huge building, the obvious comparison popping into mind. But this castle and his home could not be more different. Dracula’s castle was thin and tall, like a bare tree, each spire arching from a large, central mass. This castle was thick and carved straight from the natural stone, the spires as broad as houses and stumpy, giving the building a look of an overturned stool.

“Well, at least it’s not hard to find,” Trevor said, and set off to follow the shoreline.

At the curve of the shore, a huge doorway arched far above them, even larger than Dracula’s castle door. Adrian set off towards it, but Trevor stopped his arm.

“Look,” Trevor pointed upwards, at a silvery shape which protruded from the castle’s side.

Adrian couldn’t quite tell what he was looking at. The shape was huge and metallic, resting on what looked like a balcony with the balcony part cut off. It was far too large to be a window, but Adrian couldn’t figure out what the opening or the metal half-moon shape could be. Was it a corridor that had been cut off? He couldn’t see the wreckage of the connecting stone.

“What is it?” Adrian asked.

“It’s a pie dish,” Trevor said.

“What?” Adrian yelped, glancing back at the metal rim. “It must be twice the size as a double-bed. How can that be a pie?”

“They’re giants,” Trevor said.

“That’s ridiculous,” Adrian scowled. “A giant’s not going to make pie! There’s just no way!”

“Because they’re a creature of darkness?” Trevor asked, smirking.

Adrian flushed angrily.

Trevor approached the side of the castle and slotted his feet into the gaps in the wall. The ‘pie dish’ was a good distance upwards, but the age of the walls left a lot of good foot and hand-holds. Trevor began to climb upwards. Adrian scrambled after him.

“Can you turn into a bird?” Trevor asked, levering himself upwards. “It would make it easier.”

“Of course I can’t,” Adrian glared, as if that was a stupid question.

Trevor grinned and continued to climb. They reached the colossal window sill, and found that it was indeed a pie, the pastry deliciously browned. Sugar crusted the golden blush of the surface. The heat of the dish made Trevor begin to sweat.

Just as Adrian reached his side, the walls began to shake. Trevor grabbed a fistful of the young boy’s cloak to steady him on the window-sill, hidden by the huge curtains which hung inside the castle.

A male giant passed by the windowsill. His nostrils were as large as the enclave that they had hidden in the night before. A thicket of golden hair was pulled into a low ponytail which hung over a sunburned neck.

“Grandmother!” The giant called, so loud it shook the dust from the walls. “I am hungry!”

The giant passed out of sight, and Trevor pushed the corner of the humongous curtains aside. The pair of them peered through the large window into a scaled-up kitchen, a wooden table that must have taken sixteen dozen trees to build, a pot in the sink which was larger than Trevor’s cabin in the woods. Adrian glanced around the kitchen with wolf-eyes, but he couldn’t spot a discarded golden hair.

The male giant sat down at the table and scratched his ear. He must be the Devil of Colamore, Adrian said, and found the name fitting. The sheer size of the creature unnerved even him.

“Coming, dear,” Another giant came into view, an old woman with heavy wrinkles and grey-black hair which hung in loose curls like the stems of a weeping willow. She looked like the grandmother of the Devil, and she approached the windowsill, wrapping her hands around the cooling pie.

“Wait!” Trevor called in a hushed voice, stepping into view. Adrian tried to pull him back behind the curtain, but it was too late. The grandmother’s great eyes fixed on him.

Trevor was barely as tall as the distance from the tip of her middle finger to the base of her palm. But she didn’t move to attack them, only watched them curiously, as if they were talking mice. A sharp fear cut through Adrian’s chest.

“Hello,” The grandmother raised her eyebrows.

Trevor glanced back at the Devil, who was reading a thick book. He took another step towards her, “We need your help.”

“Is that your grandson?” Adrian asked.

“That’s him,” The grandmother said. “Do you want me to fetch him?”

“No,” Trevor said, quickly. “We don’t need his time. Just—uh—we need to ask you a favour. Could you pluck three hairs from his head?”

The grandmother frowned, “Why would I do that?”

“We need them,” Adrian said, “Please?”

“We can’t give you anything in return,” Trevor admitted. “But we’re doing this to save an innocent woman. Please, could you help us?”

The grandmother lifted her great head, eyes narrowing.

“It’s my mother,” Adrian said. “I need to protect her. I’m just being a dutiful son.”

That seemed to soften the old giant woman. She lifted the pie from the windowsill and bowed her head slightly. “Wait here.”

Adrian’s heart lurched. The pair of them hid back behind the curtains.

“Finally,” The Devil straightened up when his grandmother set the pie on the kitchen table. The grandmother used a ship-sized knife to cut the pie into generous sliced and set one on a plate which she pushed in front of him.

“Eat, my boy,” The grandmother encouraged.

The Devil ate. He had another slice. A third. By the fourth, he was swaying slightly, exhausted by the warm, delicious food.

“Sleep, my boy,” The grandmother said, sitting next to him. “Lay your head on my lap.”

The Devil laid down. In a moment, earth-shaking snores rose from him. Time crawled on, while Adrian and Trevor watched from the other side of the room.

The grandmother pulled out a hair.

With a lurch, the Devil roused, “What woke me?”

“Your dream,” The grandmother said.

“My dream,” The Devil murmured, “was so strange. I dreamed a black frog rested at the base of a bountiful well and stopped any water from flowing forth to the village.”

Adrian started. Once it sprouted clear and pure water, but now it is dry as a bone... He committed the Devil’s words to memory.

“Sleep now,” The grandmother soothed, stroking the Devil’s golden hair.

The Devil slept again and snored loudly. The grandmother continued to mollify him, before she pulled out another hair.

Again, the Devil was shocked awake. Again, the grandmother soothed him, and asked what he had been dreaming of.

“A beautiful tree,” The Devil said, “unable to bear fruit because of a family of wicked mice which gnawed at its magic roots.”

For once its boughs bloomed fat, juicy apples, now it doesn’t even flower.

For a third time, the Devil was cajoled into sleep. His huge hands lay half-curled on his grandmother’s lap. His snores were like rocks tumbling together down a ravine. The grandmother punched her fingernails around a hair which hung from behind his ear and yanked it out.

“Ow!” The Devil lurched upwards.

“Your dreams are so troubled,” The grandmother asked. “What did you dream of?”

“An oarman who doesn’t know how to stop rowing.” The Devil rubbed his scalp unhappily. “If only he knew to bury his oar on the shoreside, he would be free of his curse.”

“How dreadful,” The grandmother said. “But perhaps your dreams would not be so fraught if you slept in your bed.”

“Perhaps,” The Devil grumbled unhappily, and stood up. He stalked out of the room, every step shaking the walls.

When the Devil was safely out of sight, the grandmother approached the windowsill. She had the three hairs wound around her finger and she untangled them for Adrian to pick up. Each hair was thick as sailor’s rope and heavy as real spun gold.

“Here you are,” the grandmother said.

“Thank you,” Trevor said. He paused, then said, “By the way, you should stop washing your hands in lavender oil. It’s giving you a rash.”

“What?” The grandmother touched her reddish hands. “How did you know?”

“I smelled it,” Trevor said. “You should use crushed thyme to sooth the rash.”

“Thank you,” The grandmother said. “I’ll keep that in mind. Have a safe trip.”

Adrian dangled the thick hairs down until he was sure there was no wind and let them drop. They fell in heavy coils at the base of the castle. Adrian began to climb down, followed closely by Trevor. The pair of them picked the weighty hairs back up and walked back along the cool shoreline.

The oarman was not hard to find again. They embarked wordlessly and glided across the lake again.

This time, the trip was much faster. They reached the other side after what felt like twenty minutes.

“Tell me what you know,” The oarman said.

“If you bury your oar on the shoreside, you will be free of your curse,” Adrian answered.

The oarman let them disembark, a rare smile gracing his old features.

They travelled up, over the land. Again, this journey seemed shorter. The three hairs draped between them like three heavy, dead snakes.

So they came to a bridge, and on it sat a mournful-looking woman, with an empty basket at her feet. She looked up as they approached.

“Tell me what you know,” The woman asked, mournfully.

“Mice bite at the base of your tree,” Adrian said. “Scare them away and it will blossom and fruit again.”

The woman beamed at him, shedding the great melancholy that hung around her.

They crossed back over the bridge, retracing their steps. The sun beamed brightly around them, and the grass seemed healthier and thicker. Adrian had a strange tugging feeling, like he wanted to discard the hairs he carried, turn wolf and run. Perhaps after Lisa was recovered, he might take time to sprint around.

By the by, they came back to the crossroads. An old man sat on a large boulder, dressed in dark blue robes. He stood up as they approached, a rare hope in his eyes.

“Tell me what you know,” The old man begged.

“A black frog sits at the base of your well, stopping your water,” Adrian said. “Appease him and your well will flow again.”

“Thank you.” The old man bowed deeply and shuffled away.

As they walked back down the familiar path, the village came back into view. The familiar mountains arched behind them; the same dark trees peppered along the road. Fear prickled in Adrian’s chest. They made a beeline for the castle in the centre of the village.

Barabal stood in front of the castle door. Her dark eyes followed them as they approached.

“Barabal,” Trevor grinned at her. He gestured at the heavy strands of hair they carried between them.

Barabal gave him an evil look, but snapped her fingers. The castle door opened behind her.

Old Sìne’s castle was dark and foreboding, like the mouth of a deep cave. Trevor and Adrian climbed the stairs and entered, a coolness washing over them. It took a moment for Trevor’s eyes to adjust to the gloom. Their footfalls echoed across the hard wood floor.

“Three golden hairs from the Devil of Colamore,” Old Sìne’s voice found them before they saw her. It was cold and strong, raspy at the edges with age. She stepped into the light, her yellow dress hanging in uneven folds. “You’re early, too. You have an extra day.”

“I brought them,” Adrian said, sharply, dropping the hairs. “Now give me my mother back.”

Trevor set the hairs down in a looping pile.

“Of course,” Old Sìne stepped to one side, and the dining table came into view behind her, the chandelier above them lighting in a rush of flame. “Fair’s fair, after all.”

Lisa Tepes sat at the head of the table, head bowed, and golden hair laid out over her white dress in glinting coils. There was an untouched plate of food in front of her, and a span of pristine cutlery.

Adrian darted forward, “Mother!”

Lisa didn’t stir. Adrian shook her shoulders, and her head lolled back. Her eyelids didn’t even twitch. Adrian watched as her head came to a rest on the back of the chair, her lips slightly parted.

“What have you done to her?” Adrian croaked.

Old Sìne waved a hand over the thick giant’s hair, and the strands of gold began to move on their own like charmed snakes. They braided themselves together and wrapped around the old witch’s waist like a sash. “What was that, whelp?”

“She’s still sleeping,” Adrian glared at the back of Old Sìne’s head. “She’s not waking up.”

Trevor frowned and approached the doctor. He picked up Lisa’s pale wrist and felt her pulse.

“I provided the safe and whole return of your mother,” Old Sìne tilted her head, tying off her new sash, “What are you even yapping about?”

“You lied,” Adrian curled a hand around his dagger. “You cheated me.”

“Cheated?” Old Sìne frowned, “How did I—?”

Adrian leaped at her, blade flashing.

Old Sìne darted out of the way, far too nimble for her age. Her long hair fanned out behind her, her yellow dress flapped. “I didn’t cheat.”

“You’re evil,” Adrian snarled, slashing the air where she had just been.

Trevor stepped forward, “Adrian—”

“You really think you can beat me, half-breed?” Laughing, Old Sìne came to a halt on the end of the table, knocking over a goblet of wine, standing on the tips of her toes like was about to take off. She ran a gnarled hand over her golden giant-hair sash, “This hair you so kindly provided me makes me as fast and agile as a sparrow in flight.”

Adrian dived for her, faster and faster, but she was always just out of reach. Old Sìne’s cackles rebounded across the walls as his strikes grew sloppier and sloppier.

With a howl, Adrian morphed into wolf form, lunging for her—

His legs were pulled out from under him, tight leather snaring around his paws. He hit the hard floor with a resounding thump. A whip was snared tight around his legs, and Trevor kept the grip tight, wrapping the whip around his fist as he pulled Adrian closer.

“Adrian,” Trevor said, firmly. “Stand down.”

Adrian opened his mouth to shout at him, but it came out as a string of barks and whines. He licked his black lips, but he couldn’t focus enough to shift back into human form and give the man a piece of his mind.

“Lisa is fine,” Trevor said. “She’s perfectly fine. Alright? Your mother is okay.”

Adrian glanced between Trevor and Old Sìne, his yellow eyes flashing. He risked a glance back to Lisa, who lay limply in her ornate chair.

“The Besom plant sedates you if it’s smoked at a low temperature, and that’s whats happened to her,” Trevor said. “It’s common here. I’ve used to myself when I need to do stitches. I know all the symptoms. You’ve just got to trust me.”

Adrian ground his sharp teeth together, but the wild anger drained out of him. He managed to morph back into his human form and pull the winds of whip from his middle. He brushed down his cloak unhappily.

“You still attacked me, in my own home,” Old Sìne said, running a knobbly finger over her jaw. “Perhaps I should demand some kind of reparation.”

“Reparation?” Trevor raised his eyebrows, “for us acting like proper guests? After all, you brought Lisa out here sedated because you wanted Adrian to react like that. All we did was provide the entertainment you expected.”

Old Sìne narrowed her eyes at Trevor, before she relented. “Fine. Take your woman and leave. Don’t expect me to be so lenient next time you come scratching at my door. And leave my gardens alone.”

“That’s fine by me,” Adrian glared at her, “if I never see you again, it’s too soon.”

Trevor picked Lisa up as delicately as he could, and gave a short bow to Old Sìne, “Thank you for fulfilling your end of the bargain.”

Old Sìne smiled at him, showing yellow teeth.

Miraculously, the pair of them were allowed to leave. They left the halls of Old Sìne, the door closing behind them with a low click. Barabal glared daggers at them as they passed and looked like she might bite them. But they passed.

Out of the courtyard. Out of the village, and into the woods.

“Do you know where the castle is from here?” Trevor asked. He shifted around so Lisa straddled his back, her sleeping head resting on the crook of his neck, her arms hanging down his chest. Golden hair spilled over his shoulders.

“Um,” Adrian glanced across the dark treeline. He shifted into wolf form, and pointed his nose upwards. After a moment of sniffing the air, he bounded through the undergrowth.

Trevor followed the white wolf, and they pushed through the dewy forest. The earth was soft and sweet smelling.

By then, it was midday, and the sun was high in the sky. Trevor’s legs were sore from all of the exercise, and his sides hurt from sleeping on the stone. His cloak was damp at the corners. Grass crunched under his boots.

Lisa stirred on Trevor’s back and she rubbed her face, “Adrian?”

Adrian wagged his bright white tail and morphed back into human form, “Mother!”

“Who is this?” Lisa touched Trevor’s stubbly chin.

“Forgot me already?” Trevor laughed.

“Trevor?” Lisa rubbed her eyes. “You’re so tall now.”

Trevor smiled warmly, “Do you feel alright?”

“I’m fine,” Lisa mumbled.

“Mother,” Adrian grasped Lisa’s hands, “I’m sorry.”

Lisa patted his soft curls, “As long as you’re okay, honey.” She rubbed her face. “I’m so tired.”

“You can go back to sleep,” Trevor said, “We’ll carry you home.”

Lisa hummed and settled down again.

Adrian watched her for a moment, before he turned back into a wolf and padded onwards. His tail wagged gently.

The forest smelled fresh and sweet. It was cold enough to leave a crust of icy dew on the grass around them. Bird wheeled in the depths of the sky, spinning over each other. After half an hour of walking, the Castle came into view, a deep black structure against the pale blue sky. Adrian reverted back into human, although Trevor didn’t let him carry Lisa.

When they reached the base of the castle, Adrian broke away and sprinted up the tall steps.

Before he reached the doors, they flew open.

Vlad Dracula-Tepes burst onto the steps, eyes dark and wild, cloaks spreading out like great black wings behind him. The first thing he saw was his son, standing on the cold stone steps, startled.

“Adrian!” Vlad swept his son into his arms.

“Father,” Adrian yelped. “Sorry for disobeying you.”

“Forget it,” Vlad rested a long-clawed hand over Adrian’s small head. His eyes snapped to Trevor Belmont, who was padding out of the treeline, Lisa draped over his back. Trevor offered him a weak smile, and Vlad narrowed his eyes. “Belmont.”

“Hello,” Trevor smiled tiredly at the old drake. “She’s alright, if you’re asking that. She’s just sleeping off a sedative.”

“I’m guessing you had something to deal with this,” Vlad said, coldly.

“Ah… sort of. The rescuing part I did,” Trevor said. “Not the kidnapping part.”

Adrian stepped away from his father. Vlad’s expression gradually relaxed, and his hackles lowered. His claws retracted a little, and he smoothed down his dark black hair.

“You ought to come in, then,” Vlad said, turning back inside the castle.

 

*

 

Lisa slept through the afternoon, but by evening she was walking around. A heavy fatigue rested over her, but she seemed otherwise healthy. Adrian’s magic looking glass now reflected their living room, with his parents, him and Trevor all relaxing and doing light chores. The perspective was overhead, but Adrian couldn’t figure out where the looking glass was looking from. He ended up tucking it away in a draw.

Vlad read a huge ornate novel, but it was clear he was actually just keeping an eye Lisa. He hadn’t turned the page in the past hour.

“So, Trevor,” Lisa put a cherry in her mouth. “What have you been doing these past few years?”

“I work as a tailor and I sell fur at the border,” Trevor said. “I’m sort of a jack-of-all trades. I deal with any creatures of darkness which threaten the village.”

Adrian listened for more, but it was conspicuously absent.

“That sounds great,” Lisa said. “I’m glad you’re using your talents.”

“Thank you,” Trevor scratched his ear.

Adrian leaned over and kicked him. Trevor glanced at him, startled, and Adrian made a vague gesture. “And?”

“And…” Trevor swallowed thickly. “And I’m a healer. I don’t know much, I had to work it all out for myself so I’m not very good.”

Lisa stared at him.

“And, I…” Trevor trailed off.

Adrian kicked him again.

“And I mean, if it’s alright,” Trevor scratched his scalp. “I’d like to learn more medicine from you.”

Lisa’s face broke into a smile. “I would love that. Of course you can.”

Trevor flushed. “Thank you.”

Adrian curled up in his seat and smiled smugly. The fire crackled in the heath, popping embers in glowing spots. The lantern flickered. And Vlad turned a page in his book.

Notes:

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a lot of the stories and motifs in this chapter and the last one are lifted from Grimm's fairy tales. most prominent being the devil with the three hairs