#bloodmagic

The door whips open and shuts just as quickly, only to be halted by Van Helsing's firm hand. It creaks at the impact, unused to such force from any individual.

The home itself, designed to house one person and one person alone. A witch's hut was no longer meant to house visitors, not for many centuries. Outsiders have proven themselves untrustworthy when faced with things beyond their understanding.

And yet, that rule is being broken, because this young witch has been foolish enough to trust a man who was revered by his ancestor.

"You don't understand, I can't take that chance." Alaire shouts, "Nay, I refuse it!"

Their agreement was that Alaire might provide Van Helsing with supernatural remedies and in return, Alaire would be gifted any ingredients far from his reach in the forest. Instead, he's being dragged into something that risks his very life.

"Do you not understand?" The doctor contests as he shuts the door behind him. "The devil encroaches upon us and we know nothing of his plans. We must take every opportunity to gain an advantage!"

The table shivers as Alaire's fists slam into it. "It is you that does not understand!"

A silence hangs heavy in the cabin, only breaths passing through tired lungs can be heard. Van Helsing once again crosses a line, unwelcome in the witch's home and yet entering all the same. Asking for him to throw himself into the fire for people he has never met. It's beginning to seem that he lacks much respect for Alaire's demands at all.

He wonders, if his ancestor had similar issues, why this man would be held in such high regard.

"I do not exist to him," the witch continues, his voice lower and shaken. "A spell my lineage took great care to develop."

"If I let him in, if he finds me, I'll never be rid of him." A tear rolls down his face, quickly brushed away before it even lands. "My strength is not that of she who came before me. Even now, I find myself over burdened with her knowledge."

Van Helsing does not take pleasure in employing Alaire's aid, he knows the wickedness of this duty and if he was capable of it, he would steal away any danger sent the witch's way and impart onto himself. Alas, this evil is too great for his might and will alone.

The doctor's steps are slow as he brings himself into the other's view, his own hand joining Alaire's. "I would not ask you to hold this burden if it were not of dire importance."

"We have all sacrificed, now more than ever we need your sacrifice. I beg of you, for the sake of your friends and of the world."

The words reek of desperation, so much so that it brings a softness to Alaire's furrowed brow. To deny him requires an apathy that he is not capable of. With a bowed head, he submits to his sentiments and prepares himself for the treacherous journey ahead.

"Very well."

The ritual itself is easily prepared, a candle alongside a simple assortment of herbs was all they needed. Risk only comes from whose mind they enter and to get what they need, Alaire is left with no choice but to enter the belly of a most gluttonous beast.

It doesn't take long for the candle's flame to begin to thrash around, despite the unchanging wind. The display is only observed by Van Helsing while Alaire's eyes remain shut. Moving shadows behind his eyelids begin to take shape, forming buildings and trees until his vision is as clear as if his eyes were open. Though, his eyes are no longer his own, they make the location unclear. It's as if there's a heavy door that he's only just begin to peek through, hiding away the secrets that lie behind it.

"Do you see it? Have you found the devil?" Van Helsing's tone is strong, but Alaire knows he's just as frightened as he is.

"He takes great care to conceal himself." The witch complains, desiring to get things done sooner rather than later. "I beg of you, do not abandon me now."

Van Helsing's hand touches his shoulder, but Alaire's skin no longer feels it. "Never, my friend."

As their work continues, he presses further into Dracula's mind. He wishes only to make things clearer without raising any suspicions. The world around him is dark, covered in large strokes of shadow and seas of deep blue painted over the structures by the moonlight.

Still, he hasn't a clue to where he is.

With a slight push, he begins to see the clarity of a sign, perhaps some sort of landmark before everything is clear as day. His vision snaps into perfect view, as if he were a creature of the night itself. The sensation of cold slams against his body, his eyes watering from the sudden ache that ambushes his veins. His head spins and he struggles to maintain his balance. It takes all of his strength to stay up right, all the while his mind attempts to make sense of this attack on his senses.

"Intrus."

A deep, monstrous voice booms in every corner of his mind. The sound steals all the air from Alaire's lungs, his hands trembling, words being strangled from his throat. In this dark, unholy presence, his reduced to tears like a child. An instinct of prey to freeze in front of a predator, in hopes that it might just pass it by.

"Pasăre rătăcită."

The world warps around him, the shadows dragging the surrounding buildings forming a large arch, akin to a large door or perhaps more accurately a cage. Hell's gates sealing shut and locking him in with the lord of sin himself.

"Van Helsing! Wake me, wake me now!" Alaire scrambles backwards, a pathetic attempt at escape.

Count Dracula's body floats forward as though his feet never touch the ground. It's possible they truly don't, the count's coat makes it impossible to tell as it flows over the entirety of his body. His face shifts as words finally leave Alaire's mouth and a look of understanding flickers in his gaze.

"You speak english, but your accent is not of London. Another stranger in a strange land."

Alaire continues to plead, all the while Dracula observes him with an increasingly dangerous interest.

"There is witchcraft in the air, a magic far older than yourself, is it not?"

Still, the witch does not listen. He claws at his cage, knowing that his sins would never allow God to save him. Hoping only that the doctor would be capable of granting him liberation.

"Van Helsing!" He begs. "Abraham, please!"

"He cannot hear you," The count is indignant, never has he been one to be ignored. "Besides that, you have no reason to fear me. I have not given you one yet."

Spit splashes against Dracula's boot, Alaire's eyes full of vitriol. A force of hate that works hard to mask the incredible fear in his body.

"You are the Devil, that is all the reason needed."

The count's jaw clenches tight, before a cruel smile presents on his face. Alaire's body is pulled into the air, an invisible energy restrains him and begins to press his throat.

"You speak the name with such repugnance and yet you use his magic, do you not?"

Alaire is summoned closer, Dracula's eyes reflecting a blood red that will haunt is mind for many nights to come. "In this, are we not one and the same?"

The witch shuts his eyes, his only escape from this beast. He refuses to hear him as Dracula recounts things that he has feared.

"You are more of me than you are of them. I am your only sanctuary in this modern world."

These monstrous words threaten to invade Alaire's thoughts, power coming from their truth. "No—"

"The Devil's bride."

"Silence!"

The world around them shivers, but neither of them notice. The count far too enraptured with the creature in his grasp and the witch attempting to hide from it all as best he can. However, Dracula's very presence infiltrates not only his body, but his mind and soul. To be rid of his senses would never rid him of the count. Nothing would now.

"When the others know of you, they will know what sins you carry," Dracula's aged claw traces down Alaire's face, blood beginning to bloom as it digs in deeper. "They will peel our flesh back and find our souls indistinguishable."

"Come, creature of the night, come to me." The count's voice is ragged, eyes trained on the crimson that runs from Alaire's cheek to his chin. "Why waste away suffering when you know what you are and what you will always be—"

The witch's eyes snap open as he feels Dracula's decaying breath nearing his skin.

"Liar!" A sudden burst of light crackles and erupts all around them.

The count stumbles backwards and lets out a shrill screech. Everything lights up in a flash, the buildings and trees flinching backwards in pain, before the glow collects back to it's source. There in the center of it all, Alaire's eyes glow a vicious gold, hands sparking with untamed magic. The way his arms and fingers twitch seems painful, the surge of magic not yet safe for his body. Still, he holds his ground, eyes locked onto the count's every move.

Dracula's eyes are wide, eyebrows moving from a pained wrinkle to being raised in surprise.

Alaire's face falls, expression taken aback as Dracula does not retaliate. Instead he speaks one word with such admiration, it shakes him to his core.

"Perfection."

The magic dims, quelling for just a moment and before the witch could even conceive a response, his eyes open. He's returned to his home in Van Helsing's arms, his body limp only moments ago, now full of terror and life.

"Are you with me now, child?" Van Helsing shakes the witch, snapping his fingers in front of his gaze. "Speak to me!"

It takes Alaire a moment to regain his thoughts. Sitting there with a pale look, he recalls everything and it cuts him deep, his heart yearning to bleed.

"I know where he is." The witch stands, pushing himself from Van Helsing and stumbling a moment before balancing himself.

Without a moment's hesitation, he sketches down everything he can recall from the ritual. Everything before it twisted into a nightmare. Alaire doesn't go out enough in London's streets to recognize the place, but perhaps the doctor would.

"I know not of how long he will remain, especially since he became aware of my presence." He mutters in frustration, turning to hand him the drawing. "Take this and leave me."

Van Helsing offers a look of concern after taking the paper, trying to make sense of what hell Alaire must of seen in the eyes of Count Dracula.

"Leave." Alaire repeats, his eyes on the floor, chest rising and falling in quick succession.

The paper is folded and placed into Van Helsing's pocket and he marches to the door.

He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder. "I will never abandon you. Do not allow the devil to convince you of that. I will return, rest well, my friend. Contact me immediately if you find yourself in need once again."

The door shuts and Alaire falls back to his knees, gripping at his chest, still being haunted by that voice, those eyes. Even now, he feels it, that presence pressing against the very fabric of his soul. He knew it.

Now, he would never be free.

(Rebecca meets Sierra Moss at her family café in Champs Les Sims.)

 "My family built this place. It’s the one safe space I trust to talk about what’s really going on."

Sierra:  "My ‘suspension’ was a cover. I was close to something big. That’s why they pulled me off. Someone torched my evidence. But I never stopped digging."

Then, all the sudden, L. Faba, Sage of Mischief Magic decides to join them:

"Ooooh, borrowing security footage is such a hassle. How about I just… erase you from it? Temporarily. Wink."

"Darling, you’re my favorite chaos gremlin."

(Rebecca gives Sierra a warm, firm hug.) "Thank you—for not giving up."

(Back home, Suzana pores over notes beside the Celestial Crystal Crown.)

"Hypothesis: Marcus designed this to enhance vampiric powers and negate weaknesses. But if Hemolith corrupts crystals…"

(She tries inserting the crystal known as Peach)

"Fascinating. It replaces the need for blood… temporarily. Victor’s ‘enhanced’ crystals must be the opposite—amplifying* hunger until it consumes the user."*

"I traced funding lines. The lab is bankrolled by shell companies—seven layers deep. But they all loop back to one name: Victor Blackwood."

"Of course. Always the same puppetmaster."

Janet:

"My cops will ping Victor’s comms. If he sneezes, we’ll know."

"I could sketch your downfall in seven verses. But you have potential… If your friends don’t ruin it."

"Marcus was family. You’re stepping where he walked. That earns you a tag… and some secrets."

 “Let’s talk about rebellion, elegance, and well-dressed destruction.”

Grayson: "Are you in this for Kane’s memory… or revenge?"

Amy (without blinking): "Both."

"Best. Intel. Gathering. Ever."

Next Episode: “Dossiers & Dark Deals” – The pieces are in place. The war begins now. Will Suzana find answers inside the Chantry?

 Can Leslie trust a secret agent ghoul?

 Will the coterie unite their allies in time to strike? 

Can Amy keep the Brujah from literally burning down the bar?

Answers tomorrow! Same Bat-time, same Bat-Tumblr acCount! 🧛 (pun intended)