Chapter Text
McCullum was waiting in Swansea’s office chair when he returned. The doctor startled, not expecting to have company in his office. “You should secure your windows better, Swansea. If I can get in this easily, who knows what those leeches could do.” In truth, McCullum had simply picked the lock on the door. But he had a flair for the dramatic, and it was entertaining to see Swansea’s surprise at his implied method of entry.
“Geoffrey McCullum,” the leech-lover said with distaste, “what can I do for you?”
“I think I should be asking you that, considering your recent Skal problem.”
Swansea paled, obviously not expecting the information to have reached him in such a short time. His weak chin wobbled along with his voice as he defended himself, “We did not know the patient was infected, the violence was a shock to us all. Had we known--”
“You would’ve made sure to document it, eh? Take your notes for the rest of your Brotherhood?” He spat. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out you had a hand in this epidemic, considering how leeches have been spawning like rats since it started.”
Swansea’s voice raised to defend himself. “Now Geoffrey–” The sound of the door opening interrupted him.
“My apologies Edgar, is this a bad time?” One glance at the man in the doorway told McCullum all he needed to know. Dead eyes, pale skin, sunken cheeks making high cheekbones even more prominent. Even his stance suggested something inhuman.
“God protect us, you’ve got a leech in the hospital?”
Swansea looked relieved at the presence, smugly satisfied now that he had a bloodsucker to protect him. “Yes McCullum, my hospital. My mission is to heal, while you go about warring!”
McCullum pointed an accusing finger. “You’ve set the table for a snake, and wonder why there’s venom in your food.”
Swansea rose from his desk. “I’m growing tired of your song. You’re a woodsman, McCullum, not a doctor. Return to your hunt.” He spat at the last word mockingly.
He jammed his finger into Swansea’s chest for emphasis. “I’m onto you, doctor. Is this a hospital, or a blood farm?” He stalked towards the door, stopping to glare at the vampire blocking his exit. “You can’t hide from the Guard.”
The man glared back with icy eyes. “I don’t intend to.”
“Leave him, Jonathan,” Edgar said from behind, acting as if he was calling off a dog. The fool was going to get himself killed by pretending it was safe to treat this beast as if it were tame. The two continued their silent standoff.
Seconds dragged by like hours as the battle of wills continued. As usual with his kind, violence brewed just underneath the surface. It was only a matter of time before it erupted.
“This is sacred ground, neutral territory. And I just had the carpet cleaned,” Swansea pleaded.
The leech, Jonathan, as Swansea called him, backed down first, stepping aside to let him exit. McCullum moved to step through when Jonathan shifted again, suddenly uncomfortably close to his neck. He wondered if he had enough time to pull his stake before the vampire attacked.
“I assure you that my...appetite has not caused harm to a single person in this hospital.” The words sent a shiver down McCullum’s spine as the two stood nose to nose. Cool grey eyes assessed him, set above a crooked nose. It was odd to see the imperfections on a vampire’s face, remnants of a humanity long forgotten.
“Then whose blood is bringing the flush to your face?”
He smirked. “Perhaps it was one of yours.”
Rage flared as he considered breaking the agreement of neutral territory. If he wasn’t outnumbered and unprepared, he might’ve. McCullum stalked through the doorway. The door clicked shut behind him.
He thought about leaving, then realized he had an opportunity to learn more about the enemy. With all the chaos of the hospital, the leech’s senses should be too overwhelmed to hear his heartbeat at the door. He leaned against the wood, pressing his ear to listen in.
“Did you actually kill one of the Guard tonight?” A note of alarm was in Swansea’s voice. Good, it would serve the sympathizer right to remember who the real danger was here. McCullum was already preparing to grieve for whichever one of his men would not return from the hunt tonight.
“Actually no,” he chuckled, “I just wanted to get a rise out of him.” The beast did an excellent job of fabricating human emotions.
Swansea laughed heartily at the vampire’s words. Anger again rose in McCullum’s heart. How dare he act as a friend to one of these beasts?
“Who was that, exactly? I gathered he’s a part of the Guard.” Jonathan asked.
“Geoffrey McCullum, leader of the Guard of Priwen, and a thorn in my side.”
He could hear the floorboards groan as the vampire paced.
“He knows I’m here, is there a chance that he and his thugs will attack the hospital? Am I putting the patients here in danger with my presence?”
You put everyone in danger with your presence.
“McCullum is a zealot, with no understanding or interest in the complexities of the world. But the hospital is neutral ground and he abides by his word. Quite honestly, you’re safer here than anywhere else.”
Jonathan gave an amused huff. “If he wasn’t hellbent on killing me, I could respect a man of his word.”
Swansea’s voice grew soft. “Jonathan, my dear boy, how was the funeral?”
A defeated sigh. The sound of a chair creaking.
“My mother was there. She looked so... broken. So much older than I remembered. Besides the priest, it was just her and Avery. No one else was there to mourn my Mary.”
His Mary? His wife, maybe? Or a relative? Questions churned in his mind.
“Again, Jonathan, I am so sorry for your loss.”
“How can you say that as if I am not the one responsible?” The anger was palpable in Reid’s voice and McCullum prepared to burst back in to save the sympathetic fool’s ass from its wrath. There was only ever one outcome between an angry vampire and an untrained human. “It’s my fault Mary is dead. Her blood is on my hands.”
“You said it yourself Jonathan, you didn’t know what you were doing–”
“That’s not an excuse! How could there possibly be any justification, any absolution for what I’ve done?” His voice was raw.
There’s not, you monster. No mercy for demons. A small part of him noted, however, that he had never encountered a vampire who even wanted forgiveness.
A pause.
“Forgive my outburst, Dr. Swansea.” Jonathan’s voice came out smooth, controlled. Geoffrey could almost imagine him rearranging his body language from wounded beast to some clever approximation of a man. “What happened while I was away?”
Swansea’s voice was solemn. “It’s not good, Dr. Reid. It seems Mr. Hampton had been infected by William Bishop, and his transformation… well it was rather violent. We have several patients injured and at least one dead!” A full name, McCullum thought, now I can gather more information. Dr. Jonathan Reid.
“Dead! Who did he kill?”
“Poor old Harriet, I’m afraid. She may not have been the kindest soul to cross our threshold, but still,” Swansea shuddered, “what an awful way to go. We haven’t found the body yet, but based on the amount of blood in the room, there’s not really any other possible outcome.”
“I’ll take a look at the room, see if there’s a trail I can follow. She deserves a proper burial, at least. Then, I suppose I should go after him? It’s my fault he was even here.”
“Jonathan, you really have to stop pinning the blame for everything on yourself.”
“I’ll stop when it stops being true, Edgar.” There was a flat sort of mirth in his voice.
“Well,” Jonathan said, “I suppose there’s no rest for the wicked. Time I get to work.”
McCullum took that as his cue to go, quickly vaulting over the nearby stair railing to disappear among the hospital crowd.
“Excuse me, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” A nurse with a pinched, bitter expression hustled after him. “This is a hospital, not a gymnasium.” McCullum recognized her from his files.
“Nurse Hawkins.”
“How do you–?” She stopped when he flashed the insignia of Priwen. Her mouth formed an “o” as she nodded and tilted her head towards a back room. She was a small time informant of theirs, but recent developments could make her an invaluable resource. He followed her.
Nearly a quarter of an hour later, McCullum left the hospital, somehow more frustrated than he was after leaving Swansea’s office. Hawkins had no useful information to report, only emphasizing how the victim of the Skal attack was a “hateful old bat” who “got what was coming to her”. At least she had a little more information regarding the leech he encountered.
“What about that doctor I saw earlier, he isn’t mentioned in my profile of Pembroke?”
“Oh you mean Dr. Reid? Some fancy doctor from the West End that came sweeping in here as if he owned the place,” she sniffed. “I don’t care if he had just returned from the front, he’s solitary to the point of rudeness. Probably believes he’s better than the rest of us. All the doctors worship him, of course, raving about his research.”
“And his research is?”
“Something to do with blood transfusions, I heard. All I know is, he spends an awful lot of time holed up in his office and not enough doing rounds.”
A vampire researching blood transfusions? How fitting.
“Why the interest, if I may ask? Is he someone I should be keeping an eye on?” Nurse Hawkins asked eagerly.
He didn’t want to expose him, yet. He needed to lay a trap before flushing the beast from the brush. And the nurse was sure to tip him off, whether she meant to or not.
“No,” he said, weighing his words carefully, “I just prefer to know about new players in the hospital. He seems to have an in with Swansea, yes? I may have to follow up with him personally. Until I say otherwise, he is just a civilian and not to be involved.”
“Of course, sir. Fare well, Priwen will prevail!” With the familiar salutation, the nurse returned to her rounds.
McCullum left. There was much to think about.
~~~
Geoffrey massaged his temples as he read through the papers laid out in front of him. Being the leader of the Guard came with far too much paperwork. He missed being out on the street every night, hunting the devils that threatened this city.
Finally, a report caught his eye. More specifically, the name at the top of the page did. “Dr. Jonathan Reid”.
He frowned. Something both suspicious and comforting was that Reid had not been lying when he told Swansea that he had not killed any members of the Guard that night. All of his men had returned alive and relatively unscathed from their patrols, a blessing and a rarity during this epidemic.
He picked up the dossier. Leafing through the paper trail, he started to get a picture of who Reid was before he died. That wasn’t helpful to the current state of affairs (monsters aren’t people, he sternly reminded himself), yet he couldn’t help but wonder…
Dr. Jonathan Reid. Born in the West End in December of 1882. His father was a banker, his mother an artist of some renown. Educated at Cambridge, where he continued his medical studies. In the years before the war, he seemed to be a rising star in the medical field, giving lectures both in the UK and in the States on new methods of blood transfusion and analysis of samples.
So at what point did the man become a monster?
He reached the last page in the thick, but mostly useless folder. An obituary for one Mary Esther Reid, found murdered in Southwark two weeks ago.
“Now that’s what I wanted to know,” murmured McCullum. Newly risen vampires were always the most dangerous, there were no lines they would not cross to get what they craved. A dark look crossed his face at the resurfacing of old wounds.
So the leech was truly new. Was it appropriate to mourn the man he was?
The final lines detailed her relations. Preceded by her late husband and child, survived by her mother and brother, the famous Dr. Jonathan Reid, who had yet to return from the front.
He quirked an eyebrow. So Reid hadn’t revealed himself to his family.
It seemed like everything he learned about the man just unearthed more questions. Perhaps it was time to do his own reconnaissance.
He was intrigued by the beast, more than he’d like to admit. Their standoff in Swansea’s office had left his pulse pounding faster than it had in awhile. There was the promise of a long hunt, a rivalry of epic proportions.
Let the hunt begin.
~~~
McCullum was getting impatient.
This was the third night in a row he had spent watching the hospital, and so far, nothing. He understood that the beasts were intelligent, able to blend in almost seamlessly with society, but when was Reid going to slip up?
Maybe it would be better if I could get inside his lab. Hawkins did say that he spent more time in there than he did performing his rounds. But no — too much risk with not enough reward.
And, as much as it chafed, he was bound by his word. The hospital was neutral ground.
He had to break soon. If he wasn’t preying on the patients, he had to leave the protection of the hospital at some point.
McCullum sensed Reid’s exit before he saw the shadow flying from a balcony. The man took off without a backward glance, long purposeful strides carrying him down to the canals. Finally. McCullum hustled after, careful to keep his distance.
~~~
Jonathan had spent the past few nights doing as much as he could around the hospital as it recovered from the attack.
He was restless, he had to admit. The hunger gnawing at him grew by the hour. A hospital was quite possibly the worst place for him to be. The scent of blood from the operating theater was driving him mad. It was malevolent, travelling farther than should be possible just to tease his senses. The moans of the sick and dying, the stench of contagion, it all grated against him with the sharpness of a knife. He had whiled away the hours in his laboratory, experimenting on the Skal blood samples he had collected on his past outings to keep his hands busy and his mind from drifting. Trying to find a common thread, trying to find anything that made logical sense in this world of myth made real. None of this should be happening, it shouldn’t exist. He shouldn’t exist.
He grit his teeth. He needed to get out of here.
He supposed it would be a good idea to attempt to track down Sean Hampton again. His past few searches had turned up nothing, and he feared how many bodies may have piled up as he failed to track down the killer; it only added to the blood on his hands.
People were dying no matter where he went. If he left the hospital, people in his care died. If he didn’t leave the hospital, people died from Skal attacks, vampires, the epidemic, and whatever other evils haunted London’s streets. There was no winning, so what was the point? What reason was he given these abilities, this curse, if he could not perform some good to atone for his past sins. I’m sorry Mary, I’m trying.
He made up his mind. He would return to the docks and continue his search. The Pembroke had stabilized enough to survive a few hours without him. Finding Sean was the priority now. He stepped out on the balcony, sparing a cursory glance to make sure no one was below him, before leaping to the ground in a blur of shadow. It was still strange to him, the feeling of weightlessness as he became shadow. He was a creature of blood and darkness now, he supposed he should get used to it. Perhaps there was no “getting used to” his condition. He thought back to Lady Ashbury’s words at the foot of his sister’s grave.
She was right, of course. I must accept what has happened if I am ever to move forward. He had his penance laid out before him, and that was protecting London, in whatever way he could.
~~~
London’s streets had never been so silent. He supposed that’s what made it so easy to realize that he was being followed. That Guardsman that he had seen in Swansea’s office— McCullum— had been shadowing him for the past hour as he made his way to the docks. If he was being honest, Jonathan could have easily lost him by now. It would have been easy enough to disappear into the shadows of a back street and laugh at the hunter’s frustration from his lost quarry.
Or you could kill him. Why hide? A darker part of him whispered. He’s alone, his blood is yours for the taking. It would be over before he could draw his weapon. It rattled on, conjuring excuses and justifications. Who would be more justified in killing him than you? He hunts those like you, he has the blood of legions of Ekons on his hands.
They are not my kind. He fought back viciously. I did not want this.
But you have it, so why fight your nature?
Jonathan remembered the moment when his teeth— fangs— met Mary’s neck. The feeling of her skin splitting beneath him, the gush of nectar on his tongue. Wouldn’t it be nice to feel that again?
Reid clenched his eyes shut, forcing himself to focus on the horror that came after, the realization of what he’d done. Her wide eyes searching his face, her hand on his cheek. The silent question in her eyes: what had happened to her brother? Her last thoughts still echoed in his head. He was still running from her ghost.
A stone settled in his stomach. Clearly, he could not be trusted. He would let McCullum follow him as a silent judge. Someone to end him if he lost control.
McCullum wouldn’t hesitate. He could stop me, or at least he could try.
Jonathan knew from the moment he saw him in Swansea’s office. McCullum wasn’t afraid of him, even though he knew what he was. His pulse had been steady, he had glared at Reid without flinching. If not for the utter confidence in his stance, the Guardsman’s attempt at intimidation would’ve been laughable. He stood half a head shorter than Reid. Despite having the frame of a prize boxer, Reid knew McCullum could not best him in a physical fight.
But something in his stare dared him to try.
Cobblestones turned to salt-crusted wood beneath his feet. Even the docks were a ghost of their former activity. No matter the hour of night, there was always a whirl of activity: sailors calling from incoming boats, women on street corners, merchants hawking their wares. Now, the few people left scurried between pools of lamplight, rushing to get back to the safety of their homes.
So many had been taken by the epidemic, even more taken by the desperation it bred.
He quickened his pace on the way to the Turquoise Turtle. It was funny, the way things ran full circle. That second night after his death— his rebirth— that’s where the hunt for his maker had led him. Now, anyone willing to spare him a word had pointed back to the bartender in his hunt for Sean. “If anyone knows what’s going on in the docks,” they said, “it’s Tom.”
So, back to the Turquoise Turtle it was.