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It is with a remarkably clear head that Jonathan rounds the street to the back entrance of Pembroke Hospital. He is drizzled in blood and sewage and cloudy London air, but luckily no orichalcum - the guardsmen have not yet encroached into the hospital’s perimeter. He does not know how long that will hold, especially given tonight’s… happenings.
Sunrise will break in a scant few hours but if he doesn’t speak with Edgar soon he just may lose his nerve. With a plume of shadow, Jonathan arrives upon the window-ledge of his room at the Pembroke. He pauses for a moment, taking in the bustle of the sleepless hospital below, before turning to rifle in his trunk.
A change into more presentable clothes has lessened the burden of filth somewhat but there’s only so much that can be done for his shoes. He’d given the soles a vigorous scrub but the grime of the sewers still trails behind him, accusatory, all the way to the door of the administrator’s office.
Edgar is not at his desk. When Jonathan tunes his senses he can see him through the wall, hunched over a table at the side of the room, living blood within fanned vessels extending across his midsection and then on along his limbs, smaller and smaller to the most distal lengths of his limbs. Jonathan knocks and watches the vessels shudder as Edgar turns toward the door, then crosses the room to open it. His expression is guarded as the door swings open but once he recognizes his guest he breaks into a delighted smile.
“Jonathan, my dearest colleague! Please come in!” Edgar says, gesturing into the room.
Jonathan does not know why he did not expect such a warm welcome; Edgar always regards him with such genuine kindness. The force of it overwhelms Jonathan into stillness. The frayed edges of an argument in the lobby below drift up the stairs to the landing where Jonathan stands frozen. The voices are high, feminine. A pair of nurses, maybe.
“Jonathan? Is something the matter?” Edgar asks with no less warmth in his tone. It is enough to startle Jonathan into action.
“No. No I am fine, thank you,” he says and finally steps over the threshold.
There are instruments placed in perfect alignment along the side wall - the obvious tell of experimentation interrupted. Blood, of course, and not human if Jonathan isn’t mistaken. The surgeon within him yearns so desperately to ask the intention of such an experiment, but preoccupation with more pressing matters envelops the remaining parts of himself.
“I appreciate your hospitality, Edgar,” he begins haltingly. “Truly, you’ve been so good to me.” He can see suspicion begin to form on Edgar’s face. “…But I do not believe it is in the best interests of the patients and staff for me to remain here at the Pembroke any longer.” Predictably, Edgar is immediately indignant.
“You’re resigning so soon? Whatever for? It hasn’t even been a full week! And we’ve already lost another nurse just yesterday!”
“A man is dead,” he says, with a thin attempt at tonelessness. I killed him, he doesn’t say.
Edgar is silent. There are many ways for a man to die in the presence of a surgeon, and Jonathan appreciates that he doesn’t ask for unnecessary clarification. His face betrays no intimidation but a featherlight drop of fear laces his bloodstream. He produces a cloth from a pocket and pulls the spectacles from his face. Jonathan studies the indentation the frames have made on the bridge of his nose.
“I was following the trail of a missing young man down into the sewers. There in the sewers was a beast. A horrible, fearsome thing. I managed to subdue it, and even collect a sample of its blood, but not without suffering heavy injuries. I needed a way to heal myself if there was any hope of returning here. There is no shortage of rats in a sewer, but I- I could not stomach more than a small few. With no other option, I decided to leave immediately and return to the Pembroke to rest.
“The man, Oswald, was barricaded behind a separator I happened to stumble upon while making my retreat. There were Skals just outside, and despite my state, I had intended to rescue him - I couldn’t bring myself to leave him behind. I did manage to fight off the Skals, but I found myself in even worse shape than before. I needed blood. Badly.”
It is strange to be so preoccupied with blood. Even now, everywhere Jonathan looks, blood: in the instruments on the table, in the vial in his coat pocket, in Edgar, in himself. But Jonathan is not hungry. The shameful truth is that he feels the best he has in days, no pain, no aching thirst. Oswald, his mind dampened, his limbs slow with induced torpor, was so pliant in Jonathan’s hands.
“He was so weak, Edgar. It was effortless to pull him to me, to tug at his fear, force him beneath my will, and suddenly he was too dazed to do anything at all. I had already lost all control before he was fully under.”
But is that really true? You lost control? You could have just left. You could have drained more rats. Face it, Jonathan. An Ekon craves the Embrace.
Edgar’s breathing is carefully even, but his heart will not be so easily controlled. The fear in his blood is spreading and it has been joined by a dark excitement that Jonathan does not like. Edgar straightens and replaces his spectacles.
“I knew the risks when I offered this position to you,” he says. “I do not regret doing so. I am willing to shoulder the responsibility that comes with your employment.”
Jonathan has to have misheard him. “Did we not both swear to do no harm? You would knowingly allow a murderer to remain in your hospital. That is gross endangerment!”
“Come now, Jonathan. You must feed. And I trust that you will do so with utmost discretion.” Edgar rests a hand lightly against his forearm, a comforting gesture. Jonathan can feel his pulse starkly, as if the skin and fabric separating them were not there. Jonathan is utterly baffled.
“…Are you really trying to convince me to stay? Despite what has happened - what will quite possibly happen again?”
“You are easily the top surgeon here with us. Your loss would be sorely felt,” he says, completely avoiding the matter at hand. Jonathan shakes his hand off.
“I cannot imagine your Order would be as indulgent. Priwen even less so. And what of the woman? Were she to kill on the grounds of the hospital, would you be so quick to conceal it as you seem to be for me?” For the barest second, a wry expression Jonathan cannot decipher shadows Edgar’s face.
“I will do everything in my power to protect you,” he says finally. There is something lurking underneath his words, the very something circulating in his blood that Jonathan has spent this whole conversation valiantly ignoring.
“Ah. So this is just selfishness on your part.”
Another wry smile. “I cannot deny that, though it isn’t entirely in the way you are thinking.”
Unfortunately, Jonathan begs to differ. He takes a step back. “I am thinking that you would allow yourself to be blinded by misplaced affection and act against your better judgment. You are willingly putting yourself in mortal danger.”
“I am aware. Your hunger is part of you, inextricable. But I’m not bothered. I would deeply regret your leaving.” Edgar steps forward again, removing the distance between them.
He’s gone mad. That has to be it. Jonathan tries again, “and if I were to-”
“Yes, even then. Even if the brutes of the Guard of Priwen come to storm the very premises. As your administrator, it is my sworn duty to protect you, even from yourself.” His eyes soften with affection. “And as your dear friend, it is my great pleasure. You are always welcome here, no matter what may happen.”
His whole being gleams, radiant with deranged affection - not comforting, but familiar. Jonathan feels warm despite himself. He knows this will not end well. He has a suspicion that Edgar, daft man that he is, is almost counting on it.
“All right,” Jonathan says against every better instinct. “If you are certain.”