Inviting a vampire into your car was probably just as stupid as inviting them into your home, but going separately wouldn’t have left them any control over this mess of a situation and Harper was not willing to let this go. It was a good thing they were so angry, or they would likely have lost their nerve the moment Lysander told them to pull over.
“This does not look like a place slayers would hole up,” they muttered, parking the car.
“Of course not,” he grunted. “You want to do this discretely, don’t you? We get out here and cut through there.”
The thought that Lysander might have done something like this—perhaps exactly like this—before is made them nauseous in a way no amount of blood had ever done. “What—” They steeled themself. “What are you going to do?”
Lysander seemed to be purposefully avoiding eye contact, but since they were walking side by side it was hard to be sure. “Don’t worry, Florence Nightingale,” he sniffed. “I’m just going to give them a little scare. There's only three of them and they're green as grass, only interested in making a name for themselves. If I show them I'm more trouble than I'm worth they'll be out of here before you can blink.”
Making a name for themselves. Harper had to make an effort to unclench their teeth. Well, they could bloody well go do that in some other place. An outburst of loud, unpleasantly familiar voices reached their ear and they halted, hackles raising already. They could not get Mrs Lupus crestfallen expression out of their mind.
“There we are,” Lysander breathed. “Stay put.”
“Wait—d” they began, but they were too late. They had been too slow, too preoccupied. Lysander was already gone and they did not even see him more, did not even see what direction he went. Harper stood in the shadows, their back pressed to a brick wall, and stared at the building just visible beyond the end of the sheltered alleyway.
Time crawled by for what seemed like uncountable minutes, and then everything went sickeningly fast. There was a slam as if from a door swinging open in the wind, a brief, violent cry of distress, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body, a person, hitting the ground. Harper stood frozen to their spot, their heart pounding with distress. What happened? What had they done? What had they caused?
“Time to get out. Now. Walk.”
Lysander appeared by their side as suddenly as he had left and Harper nearly flattened themself against the wall. The familiar scent of blood filled their airways and their eyes fixed on the smudge of blood on Lysander’s face unmasked horror.
“What did you do?”
He roughly wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I had to show them I meant business.”
Panic clawed at their throat. “I heard someone fall, was—”
“I didn’t kill him,” Lysander snapped. “He’s only paralysed.”
Their eyes darted from his face to the end of the alley.
“By all means, go back to check his pulse,” Lysander hissed. “Except then of course I will have to kill him, because then he’ll have seen your bloody face.”
Harper stood reeling a moment longer and then hastily fled the direction they had come from with Lysander on their heels. Neither of them spoke a word until they were back in the car, but once there, with their seatbelt buckled and their hands on the steering wheel, Harper simply couldn’t drive. Lysander was sitting slumped in the passenger’s seat, looking at them from the corner of his eyes.
They swallowed. “What did you do to paralyse him?”
“Bit him.”
They stared at him, colour rising into their face.
“Keep your shirt on, Florence,” he sneered. “I didn’t drink from him. It’s just the vampire venom. With a gentle bite it just gives a little buzz, but with a deep bite the dose is high enough to paralyse. It’ll wear off.”
“...oh.” They took a breath, exhaling most of their fear.
“Can we go now?”
Silently they started the car, driving mechanically back towards the other side of town via a different route than they came. This wasn’t what they wanted, but they had to admit that they were no longer sure how they had wanted this to go. At least, as far as reasonable expectations went. Lysander was leaning silently against the window, his gaze on the dark street, and he looked...sullen. Not a sign of what had happened save for the pink smear in the corner of his mouth.
He barely reacted when they pulled up near the cemetery and for a moment they sat in the idling car.
“Lysander…”
He looked at them, eyebrows raising in surprise.
“Why didn’t you do this before? If you could get rid of them so easily.”
It was an honest question, but his face clouded over again at once. “I might have killed them, probably would have,” he replied curtly. “You’d have dragged me from my proverbial grave.”
“And that stopped you?”
He gave them a long, sneering look before turning resolutely away from them. “Fear tastes bitter, I don’t care for it.”
Harper stared at the dashboard, struggling to admit that piece of information.
“Anything else you want from me?” Lysander broke in impatiently.
“I—no, but—”
“Good.” Apparently he could open car doors as fast as he could move, they were not even in time to lean forward to watch him go.
“—thank you,” they still tried, but he had already vanished from sight.
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When he climbed over the wall around the witch’s garden he still thought he had done so unseen. Even when he snuck up to the neat little rows of rapunzel he was convinced he was completely undetected.
It was not until the very last moment, when the furious form of the garden’s mistress was baring down on him, that he realised his mistake.
“How dare you,” spat the witch, her indignation raising her up to far more than her usual height. “To steal into my garden like a thief to plunder my vegetable beds. I will make you regret your insolence.”
“Please have mercy,” the terrified husband stammered. “I came only because-”
“Only because of me!” a strained voice panted behind them.
Both witch and thief whirled round, staring at the woman leaning heavily against the stone arch in the garden wall. She was very round around the waist and rather green in the face, but she was making a great effort to compose herself.
“Please don’t be angry,” she pleaded. “He only did it for me. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You asked him to sneak into my garden?” the witch asked, confused, but not enough to lose all her indignation.
“She didn’t!” the anxious husband cried, but his wife protested:
“I might as well have.” She looked up at the witch with pleading eyes in her pale face. “All your vegetables grow so lush and green,” she explained with a sigh. “And I just keep thinking…if I could only find something fresh enough, it would fix my mouth.”
The witch blinked at her, perplexed. “Fix your mouth?” She had seen her neighbour often enough as she passed by her windows, with dimpling cheeks and curving lips, and it had never seemed to her that her mouth needed any fixing at all.
“Everything tastes wrong,” she sighed. “And no matter how much I drink, I can’t wash this…mustiness out of my mouth. It’s only on account of the baby, it will pass, or so they tell me.”
“On account of the baby?” the witch spoke in dismay. “But surely that isn’t the normal way of things?”
“Quite normal,” her neighbour said resignedly, but the husband made a pitiful sound.
It seemed now to the witch that his broad shoulders were unusually slumped. Not with any fear of her, but with fatigue and worry.
“He can’t stand to see me upset,” the pregnant wife said softly. “I’m very sorry he broke into your garden.”
The witch faltered for a long moment. She had never before met her cheerful neighbours, no matter how many times she had seen them, and now she had felt so mistreated and had gotten so very angry… “I suppose I could make something?” she suggested. “Something fresh. Perhaps…a potion. Such subjective senses are not hard to bespell.”
“Can you really!” her neighbour exclaimed, and the eagerness and hope shining in her eyes were suddenly so bright that the witch felt herself sway on her feet. She glanced at the nervous man at her side.
“Is suppose I see why you snuck into my garden,” she muttered.
The impulsive, but loving husband, who now found himself beside his suddenly blushing wife and in much closer proximity to the attractive face of a stranger he had been used to only see glimpses of behind the window, managed an apologetic smile.
The witch cleared her throat. “I shall make something,” she decided. “I will bring it round as soon as it is done.”
“Oh thank you,” the woman exclaimed and her husband said:
“I’m really awful sorry.”
“We both are.”
The witch tried to wave them away, but now there was no stopping them.
“You must let me make it up to you,” the man begged, putting his arm out for his wife to lean on as if he no longer had to think on such things before doing them.
“Yes,” his wife agreed emphatically. “If you are coming over all the same, won’t you stay for dinner?”
And they both pressed her to accept their invitation with such earnest and eager hospitality that the witch heard herself agree before she knew how her tongue had ran away with her.
A little dazed, a little smiling, and a little more nervous still she watched how her neighbours made their way out of her garden. She watched them until they were out of sight and then she hastily knelt, to start plucking rapunzel.
Inviting a vampire into your car was probably just as stupid as inviting them into your home, but going separately wouldn’t have left them any control over this mess of a situation and Harper was not willing to let this go. It was a good thing they were so angry, or they would likely have lost their nerve the moment Lysander told them to pull over.
“This does not look like a place slayers would hole up,” they muttered, parking the car.
“Of course not,” he grunted. “You want to do this discretely, don’t you? We get out here and cut through there.”
The thought that Lysander might have done something like this—perhaps exactly like this—before is made them nauseous in a way no amount of blood had ever done. “What—” They steeled themself. “What are you going to do?”
Lysander seemed to be purposefully avoiding eye contact, but since they were walking side by side it was hard to be sure. “Don’t worry, Florence Nightingale,” he sniffed. “I’m just going to give them a little scare. There's only three of them and they're green as grass, only interested in making a name for themselves. If I show them I'm more trouble than I'm worth they'll be out of here before you can blink.”
Making a name for themselves. Harper had to make an effort to unclench their teeth. Well, they could bloody well go do that in some other place. An outburst of loud, unpleasantly familiar voices reached their ear and they halted, hackles raising already. They could not get Mrs Lupus crestfallen expression out of their mind.
“There we are,” Lysander breathed. “Stay put.”
“Wait—d” they began, but they were too late. They had been too slow, too preoccupied. Lysander was already gone and they did not even see him more, did not even see what direction he went. Harper stood in the shadows, their back pressed to a brick wall, and stared at the building just visible beyond the end of the sheltered alleyway.
Time crawled by for what seemed like uncountable minutes, and then everything went sickeningly fast. There was a slam as if from a door swinging open in the wind, a brief, violent cry of distress, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body, a person, hitting the ground. Harper stood frozen to their spot, their heart pounding with distress. What happened? What had they done? What had they caused?
“Time to get out. Now. Walk.”
Lysander appeared by their side as suddenly as he had left and Harper nearly flattened themself against the wall. The familiar scent of blood filled their airways and their eyes fixed on the smudge of blood on Lysander’s face unmasked horror.
“What did you do?”
He roughly wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I had to show them I meant business.”
Panic clawed at their throat. “I heard someone fall, was—”
“I didn’t kill him,” Lysander snapped. “He’s only paralysed.”
Their eyes darted from his face to the end of the alley.
“By all means, go back to check his pulse,” Lysander hissed. “Except then of course I will have to kill him, because then he’ll have seen your bloody face.”
Harper stood reeling a moment longer and then hastily fled the direction they had come from with Lysander on their heels. Neither of them spoke a word until they were back in the car, but once there, with their seatbelt buckled and their hands on the steering wheel, Harper simply couldn’t drive. Lysander was sitting slumped in the passenger’s seat, looking at them from the corner of his eyes.
They swallowed. “What did you do to paralyse him?”
“Bit him.”
They stared at him, colour rising into their face.
“Keep your shirt on, Florence,” he sneered. “I didn’t drink from him. It’s just the vampire venom. With a gentle bite it just gives a little buzz, but with a deep bite the dose is high enough to paralyse. It’ll wear off.”
“...oh.” They took a breath, exhaling most of their fear.
“Can we go now?”
Silently they started the car, driving mechanically back towards the other side of town via a different route than they came. This wasn’t what they wanted, but they had to admit that they were no longer sure how they had wanted this to go. At least, as far as reasonable expectations went. Lysander was leaning silently against the window, his gaze on the dark street, and he looked...sullen. Not a sign of what had happened save for the pink smear in the corner of his mouth.
He barely reacted when they pulled up near the cemetery and for a moment they sat in the idling car.
“Lysander…”
He looked at them, eyebrows raising in surprise.
“Why didn’t you do this before? If you could get rid of them so easily.”
It was an honest question, but his face clouded over again at once. “I might have killed them, probably would have,” he replied curtly. “You’d have dragged me from my proverbial grave.”
“And that stopped you?”
He gave them a long, sneering look before turning resolutely away from them. “Fear tastes bitter, I don’t care for it.”
Harper stared at the dashboard, struggling to admit that piece of information.
“Anything else you want from me?” Lysander broke in impatiently.
“I—no, but—”
“Good.” Apparently he could open car doors as fast as he could move, they were not even in time to lean forward to watch him go.
“—thank you,” they still tried, but he had already vanished from sight.
A flock of seagulls screeched overhead, providing very unwanted backing vocals to the screaming of the flailing young man that was currently being hauled towards the shore by a particularly ill-tempered selkie.
“Seabed below, could you please cooperate!” she snapped, beating her tail against the waves. “I am trying to help you!” It was hard enough to swim half transformed like this, let alone having to use both arms to keep hold of this panicking idiot.
At long last she reached shallower waters. Shallow enough at least, to safely let go of the human.
“There!” she cried, heaving him in the general direction of the beach. “Get yourself ashore!
He flailed some more for a few moments, screaming his head off and thrashing in the shallow water, until he realised he could stand and began wading frantically to the shore.
The selkie watched him go with exasperation. “You’re welcome,” she barked after him, and then pulled her pelt back up over her head and dove back into the waves.
She did not show her human face again until she had reached her favourite rock. A nice, big, flat one, that rose just above sea level. Arms were helpful in pulling yourself out of the water. The selkie flopped comfortably on her stomach, her lower half still in the foamy water, determined to still enjoy at least something of the early morning. It had been such a nice morning, before all the screaming, with the wisps of mist that drew from the sea towards the shore only barely dissolving.
It was not to be, however. She had barely folded her suntanned arms under her head, or an annoyingly familiar shape came through the faint haze of the last morning mist. A black mare, the gate of her hooves as smooth as poetry and her manes dark like the night. Kicking up and trampling pebbles under gleaming black hooves the horse charged across the beach and straight into the water. The selkie watched the proud head disappear beneath the waves with narrowed eyes. A moment later there was a splash of water beside her rock and two pale hands gripped its slick edge.
The selkie met the sea-green eyes of the transforming kelpie with a scowl. In the grey light of morning her skin seemed almost silvery, but she knew the lighting didn't matter, her frustrating kelpie companion always looked equally and annoyingly beautiful.
“I swear, if I have to rescue one more of your stupid victims—” she growled.
“Good morning to you too,” the kelpie tutted, arranging herself on the rock with an effortless grace the selkie felt she never possessed while she had human limbs.
“I mean it,” she snapped. “That was the third one this week!”
She was sick and tired of it. You’d think humans would eventually learn, but they never did. There was always someone stupid enough to mistake the kelpie for a normal horse and anyone foolish enough to climb onto her back got galloped straight into the sea. She didn’t actually hurt them, she just left them to splash around, but only very few of them managed to swim back to the shore on their own. Most of them needed help. Help that usually took the form of a very annoyed selkie.
The kelpie grinned, teeth gleaming in the pale light of morning. “You don’t have to rescue them.”
“I like my sea free of screaming humans, thanks,” the selkie grunted. “Seriously. Can’t you give it a rest for a while?”
“I would, but they make it so easy,” the kelpie grinned. “Besides, if I stop, who knows how long I’d have to wait for you to come and chat to me again…” She winked and slid off the rock back into the water. The silky ripple of the kelpie’s long, black hair fanned out wide and seemed to stain her skin until a moment later a beautiful black horse raised her head up above the water.
The selkie gave a furious scoff, jumping out of her pelt in order to stand up, tracking the dark shape in the water with her eyes. “You came to see me!” she yelled after the equine form galloping triumphantly into the sea foam. “You always do!”
There was no reply. Just a distinctive kelpie laugh, sounding loud and neighing across the waves.
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Inviting a vampire into your car was probably just as stupid as inviting them into your home, but going separately wouldn’t have left them any control over this mess of a situation and Harper was not willing to let this go. It was a good thing they were so angry, or they would likely have lost their nerve the moment Lysander told them to pull over.
“This does not look like a place slayers would hole up,” they muttered, parking the car.
“Of course not,” he grunted. “You want to do this discretely, don’t you? We get out here and cut through there.”
The thought that Lysander might have done something like this—perhaps exactly like this—before is made them nauseous in a way no amount of blood had ever done. “What—” They steeled themself. “What are you going to do?”
Lysander seemed to be purposefully avoiding eye contact, but since they were walking side by side it was hard to be sure. “Don’t worry, Florence Nightingale,” he sniffed. “I’m just going to give them a little scare. There's only three of them and they're green as grass, only interested in making a name for themselves. If I show them I'm more trouble than I'm worth they'll be out of here before you can blink.”
Making a name for themselves. Harper had to make an effort to unclench their teeth. Well, they could bloody well go do that in some other place. An outburst of loud, unpleasantly familiar voices reached their ear and they halted, hackles raising already. They could not get Mrs Lupus crestfallen expression out of their mind.
“There we are,” Lysander breathed. “Stay put.”
“Wait—d” they began, but they were too late. They had been too slow, too preoccupied. Lysander was already gone and they did not even see him more, did not even see what direction he went. Harper stood in the shadows, their back pressed to a brick wall, and stared at the building just visible beyond the end of the sheltered alleyway.
Time crawled by for what seemed like uncountable minutes, and then everything went sickeningly fast. There was a slam as if from a door swinging open in the wind, a brief, violent cry of distress, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body, a person, hitting the ground. Harper stood frozen to their spot, their heart pounding with distress. What happened? What had they done? What had they caused?
“Time to get out. Now. Walk.”
Lysander appeared by their side as suddenly as he had left and Harper nearly flattened themself against the wall. The familiar scent of blood filled their airways and their eyes fixed on the smudge of blood on Lysander’s face unmasked horror.
“What did you do?”
He roughly wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I had to show them I meant business.”
Panic clawed at their throat. “I heard someone fall, was—”
“I didn’t kill him,” Lysander snapped. “He’s only paralysed.”
Their eyes darted from his face to the end of the alley.
“By all means, go back to check his pulse,” Lysander hissed. “Except then of course I will have to kill him, because then he’ll have seen your bloody face.”
Harper stood reeling a moment longer and then hastily fled the direction they had come from with Lysander on their heels. Neither of them spoke a word until they were back in the car, but once there, with their seatbelt buckled and their hands on the steering wheel, Harper simply couldn’t drive. Lysander was sitting slumped in the passenger’s seat, looking at them from the corner of his eyes.
They swallowed. “What did you do to paralyse him?”
“Bit him.”
They stared at him, colour rising into their face.
“Keep your shirt on, Florence,” he sneered. “I didn’t drink from him. It’s just the vampire venom. With a gentle bite it just gives a little buzz, but with a deep bite the dose is high enough to paralyse. It’ll wear off.”
“...oh.” They took a breath, exhaling most of their fear.
“Can we go now?”
Silently they started the car, driving mechanically back towards the other side of town via a different route than they came. This wasn’t what they wanted, but they had to admit that they were no longer sure how they had wanted this to go. At least, as far as reasonable expectations went. Lysander was leaning silently against the window, his gaze on the dark street, and he looked...sullen. Not a sign of what had happened save for the pink smear in the corner of his mouth.
He barely reacted when they pulled up near the cemetery and for a moment they sat in the idling car.
“Lysander…”
He looked at them, eyebrows raising in surprise.
“Why didn’t you do this before? If you could get rid of them so easily.”
It was an honest question, but his face clouded over again at once. “I might have killed them, probably would have,” he replied curtly. “You’d have dragged me from my proverbial grave.”
“And that stopped you?”
He gave them a long, sneering look before turning resolutely away from them. “Fear tastes bitter, I don’t care for it.”
Harper stared at the dashboard, struggling to admit that piece of information.
“Anything else you want from me?” Lysander broke in impatiently.
“I—no, but—”
“Good.” Apparently he could open car doors as fast as he could move, they were not even in time to lean forward to watch him go.
“—thank you,” they still tried, but he had already vanished from sight.
Steve hurried up into his room and closed the door quietly. He leaned against it and slid to the floor.
He leaned his head back against the door and let out a shuddering breath as he waited.
Sure enough about ten minutes later the front door slammed then the sound of a car trunk opening and closing then a car door doing the same, before the car tore out of the driveway.
Only then did Steve let out a breath and closed his eyes. He was safe. For now.
Clint’s expression became dark. “This victim mentality of yours is unbecoming, you’re an adult now. Act like it.”
Steve opened his mouth to protest, but slammed it shut. His dad was just going to keep acting like Steve was the problem. This so-called ‘crazy-making’ like Nichole’s mom would going on and on about whenever her daughter brought home a boyfriend.
“Didn’t I tell you,” Clint asked, his frown mirroring his son’s, “we’re moving your mother from Nevada back to Indiana and I was getting the paperwork completed.”
“You didn’t even tell me she was in Nevada in the first place,” Steve said pained.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Steven,” Clint growled. “I told you over Christmas break.”
Steve reared his head back. “But you were in the Bahamas over Christmas break, I had to order in for Christmas dinner.”
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Steve frowned at him as Eddie walked around to the back of the flyer and hit a button Steve didn’t even know was there.
Suddenly the back end opened to reveal a small cargo bay. Just big enough for the flight bike.
“Holy shit,” Steve breathed. “I didn’t even know it was there. That’s amazing!”
Eddie’s grin got bigger. “I’m a bit of a nerd when it comes to these older space flight air craft. And this is a Kline A140. And its not for a pilot and co-pilot it’s for a pilot and a mechanic.”
Steve blinked at him for a moment, then looked up at the star flyer. “You drive a hard bargain.”
Then he looked around. “I don’t know if there are any tools around here...”
Eddie chuckled and held up a finger, then he walked back to his flight bike. He opened a hatch on the side and pulled out a tool kit. He came back to Steve holding it up like a kid showing his mom the frog he caught.
“And if I’m right, we won’t have to leave the flight bike behind,” he said with a grin.
Eddie’s head rocked back in shock. “That thing has proto-ion engine and you want to fly it? Are you insane?”
“You don’t have to come with me,” Steve reminded him. “You can go back to work, tell them I held you hostage and that I forced you to drive me to the middle of nowhere and then let you go.”
Eddie blinked at him for a moment. Abandoning Steve had never even crossed his mind. Yes, he would be a galaxy of trouble, yes he would be in space like he was terrified of, and yes he would be leaving behind a company he had built from the ground up and he would most likely lose it. But all that paled in helping Steve get off world to hide from the company that had ruined both of their lives.
“You’re going to need a mechanic to keep that thing from falling apart before you even pass the atmosphere,” Eddie said with a scoff. “Unless you want to have the shielding crack as reach escape velocity.”
“I haven’t seen a code based security lock in ages,” Eddie said peering over Steve’s shoulder. “Isn’t it super easy to hack?”
Steve shrugged and began working on pulling of a large tarp off the object in the middle of the hangar. “Most of these hangars have been picked clean for decades. No one is coming here looking to score.”
“So why do you have a...” Eddie trailed when he finally saw what was under the tarp. It was an early model star flyer. Two seater, back to back like those old fighter jets from the 21st century. It was red and silver and the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “Holy shit.”
Steve smirked. “My dad was a collector but because collecting pre-nuclear engine star flyers is illegal, he stashed them all over the galaxy.”
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“I’m sorry Tommy took something so vital from you,” Steve murmured as he got off the flight bike. “It’s horrible that you’re afraid of heights because of the...” he paused. “I can’t even call it an accident. The incident I guess.”
Eddie just shook his head. “Hey, man. I didn’t blame Tommy before I knew what went down, and I sure as hell don’t blame him now. They fucked up and spit him out. No one to blame but Starcourt, dude.”
“We can store your flight bike in the hangar,” Steve muttered, walking down a row of identical hangars, “so you don’t have to worry about it getting discovered.”
He stopped in front of one and typed in a code, the doors swinging open.
“Well duh,” Steve said rolling his eyes. “The guardians said it would be better if we had a home base that we could retreat to and like my parents only spend about three weekends a year here, I offered it up.”
“Really?” Eddie said, blinking up at Steve with wide-eyed amazement. “That’s fantastic!”
“The others are still in high school so they can’t move in here,” Steve said with a shrug. “But that shouldn’t be a problem for you, right?”
“I am technically still in school,” Eddie said pushing the remains of his scrambled eggs around. “But I’m over the age of eighteen, so I’m legally an adult.”
