Rhetoric and Logic

Luckily Belle drove as fast as she ran, because Harper could not have listened and driven at the same time. Someone had started a fire in the historical part of the cemetery, where the crypts and mausoleums were. Harper had no idea where exactly Lysander hid away during the day, but it had to be there. Those disgusting, cowardly—

“No sign of the wannabe inquisition,” Belle muttered, her grip on the steering wheel tightening momentarily. “Tam says there's a witness who saw a truck with custom tires parked by the wall over at the far corner, but he didn't make out a licence plate.”

"Really?" Harper replied with an unwavering voice. "Are you sure? Didn't he recall something like 94-RP-XK?"

There was a flash of yellow in Belle’s hazel eyes while she grinned. "Now that you mention it, he did. I'll be sure to tell Tam it must have slipped her mind."

Harper barely gave Belle time to park the car, before sprinting into the dark. The noise and lights of first responders did not bother them, but the smell of smoke made their stomach twist. Lysander was troublesome and brash, but he had never really hurt anyone, that they knew of. That slayer excepted, of course, but that had been— Harper circled round to the place where they had once managed to trap him in the wild roses all those months ago. This had to be closer to his hideout than where the fire had been.

“How the devil are you here.”

Harper gasped for air, almost dizzy with relief. Almost fully concealed in the shadow of a tall gravestone, slumped against it like the headboard of a bed, was Lysander. “Well,” they breathed, “contrary to what you like saying I am luckily not the only one looking out for this town.”

Lysander lifted his head and his sunken eyes and sallow skin startled them. “There’s no occult presence in your law enforcement,” he protested sharply. “It’s the first thing I scope out when I go somewhere new.”

They supposed it was a good sign that he was still so combative. He looked like hell, but he couldn’t be too gravely injured. “Well, no,” they said, slowly lowering themself down to sit on the grass. “Not since Will retired some years ago. But Mrs Lupus' eldest is a firefighter, and two of her nephews are EMT's. How do you think I got to know them?”

Lysander stared at them in incredulous mortification.

“The wolves called you? To help me?”

Harper looked steadily back at him. “You helped me, didn't you? And I help them.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Did they… are you hurt?” They did their best to sound professional about it, but there was only so much they could do considering they were wearing shoes without socks and a coat over their pajamas.

“I’m fine.”

“What about your place? Did you have a… did they destroy anything necessary?”

“What?” he sneered. “Like a favourite coffin?” He shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “I don’t have to crawl underground during the day, you know. I just prefer it here because the general graveyard presence makes me harder to find for people looking with magical means.” His crimson eyes flashed at them for a moment. “Like witches.”

“I'm not a witch,” they said quietly.

“Of course not,” he griped. “You're a good Samaritan who made it their business to ruin my undeath.”

“My father was a witch,” they added calmly. “But I don't need witchcraft to see you’re lying.”

“Gods, you drive me insane,” Lysander suddenly burst out, throwing his weight forward and letting one hand claw into the dirt. “Why are you here? I have done every single thing you’ve told me to do from the moment I set foot in this town— What more do you want from me?”

Harper had instinctively scrambled back and was sitting with their legs awkwardly outstretched, staring back at him. “You’re hurt. Let me help.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated. “I’ll heal.”

It wasn’t as easy as that though, they knew that much. “How much blood do you need to recover?”

There was no answer. Maybe he didn’t know. Or maybe he just didn’t want to tell them. A hurt vampire was a hungry vampire. That was dangerous. For everyone. For Lysander and everyone he had to deal with.

“We can go to my place,” they offered. “I have equipment there, I can—”

“No.”

They shut their mouth. His eyes were a different shade of red. “Then just take some.”

Lysander moved away from them, back into the shadow of the gravestone. “What?”

“You know how to bite safely,” they argued. “You barely leave marks, I’ve seen it. So just take what you need to be well again.”

His expression was no longer visible for them, but Harper could tell he was still staring. “You’re not serious,” he breathed.

Like hell they weren’t. They sat up straight, pulled loose the pouch of juniper berries and tossed it aside before trying to roll up the sleeve of their coat.

Lysander made a choked noise. “What the hell are you— Put that back on!”

Harper ignored him. “You put yourself in danger because of what I asked you to do.”

“Bullshit, those little assholes would have tried this eventually. Only a matter of time. Keep your damn coat on.”

Harper stopped short of pulling off their coat and made an earnest attempt to meet his eyes. “You need blood.”

Even cast in shadows they could catch enough of his expression to see the struggle in him. “No,” he said at last, his voice hoarse. “I need rest. The sun will be up soon, I’m sure they hoped I’d get caught by the dawn by smoking me out.”

“Do you even have a place to stay now?” they asked uneasily.

“Plenty of space here, once your wolf friends stop crawling all over it.”

They’d argue, but while Tamzin had never turned anyone, let alone a colleague, she sure as hell considered every last one of her fellow fire fighters as part of her pack, so. “Fine.” They hesitated. “Can I come check on you later?” Whatever he said, they had had a hand in this.

“I have no illusions whatsoever about being able to keep you from sticking your nose in,” Lysander grunted, but Harper could not let that stand.

They were not above breaking some rules to protect their town and their patience, but they did not force their help on people. They felt a pang. Lysander went out of his way to help them, to do what they wanted without getting them in danger, and it nearly got him killed. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will.”

Another, heavy silence.

“Cemetery’s a public place, isn’t it,” he said gruffly. “I’m not going to tell you where you can and cannot go.”