Chapter Text
The Aurions had a set of rules when it came to creatures of the night.
“They’re no longer human,” Margaret’s father instilled into her from a young age. “You must remember that. No matter what they say, no matter what they do, don’t look into their eyes, for that will seal their illusion and make you weak.”
Margaret was very diligent when it came to vampires. Even with her eyes downcast, she knew just where to strike, where to drive it in, where to at least end things quickly without exacerbating the pain. She was usually so careful when it came to discerning their tricks, their need for invitation. Any threat that came to her door (and there were usually many from relatives of some brood of some sort, some vengeance-filled beast) was dealt with.
As long as her guard was raised, she was fine.
And yet.
“Is the sherry not to your liking, Miss?” asked her host, head lilting to the side.
The two sat on a plush couch in a large, ornate foyer. Golden intaglio of flowers were etched into the banisters and the hearth of the roaring fireplace, which gave everything in the room an orange glaze, especially the hair of her host.
Margaret tapped on her glass with a gnawed-down fingernail. “No, no, it’s fine, really.”
“Perhaps something else to your palette?”
“I'd rather make this night not about my drinking habits, but moreso the issue at hand, Madam Peregrine.” Margaret pressed, a smile on her lips that didn’t reach her eyes, which were focused on the fire. “You have a… problem, don’t you?”
On occasion, Margaret would be called on commission from some rich baron who could afford it about an… infestation. An infected spouse, a basement turned into a nest - these cases weren’t the cleanest (when were they ever?) but as long as the proprietors didn’t make a fuss about fees for cleaning potentially blood soaked walls or the fact that their nephew or husband may very well have to be killed, things went smoothly.
But in the case of this case.... She knew damn well that their host was much too far gone.
From the instant she opened the door, she had realized this “job” was a lure. No matter the appearances this woman had tried to keep up, there was no mistaking the scent of a vampire. “Madam Sia Peregrine”, a name stolen from the former owners of this house no doubt, was just toying with her at this point. Margaret had to confront her soon. She didn’t know why she hadn’t already - in fact, the state of her nerves was highly unlike her this evening.
It was just one - she could handle just one, even as it assumed the guise of a perfect host. She tried to take a sip of the drink and swallowed down any anxieties.
"Oh dear," Sia softly stressed. "It's frankly been such a nightmare trying to get rid of such demons. Can you imagine?"
In her periphery, Margaret could see that she even put a hand to her forehead, in the attempt of seeming faint. Laying it on a bit thick there, aren't you? she thought, bemused.
"Though I suppose of course you do, it must be second nature for you to deal with all this."
"Indeed." Margaret stood up, putting her drink on the side table. She had to be careful, catch her off guard, lull her into security before showing a hint of her blade. "I suspect it would be difficult to scout a vampire amongst your staff in this manor specifically."
"Oh?" Her voice dipped, almost playfully. "And why's that?"
"Well, an easy test would be to check for their reflection in a mirror... yet after our tour of the house, I do not recall a single one."
"How queer," and at this Margaret could hear the smile in her voice. "Tell me, dear... why do you suppose that is?"
Margaret whirled around and caught her would-be assailant in the shoulder with her dagger, pinning her to the couch before she could sink in those now-exposed canines. Sia hissed like a snake as the knife met her flesh. Margaret exhaled hard.
"A tawdry charade if I've ever seen one. You are a fool if you thought you could trick me."
Margaret began to roll up her sleeves as she went to finish the job. Sia chuckled a little before trying to yank the dagger out without dislocating her clavicle.
"Then we are both fools." Margaret wrestled the blade out from Sia's grip. The vampire's nails dug into her hand, and Margaret winced just as Sia's response began to sink in. "You played pretend just as I did the moment you stepped in."
This made Margaret freeze for just a moment before rolling Sia off the couch and trapping her to the floor, pinning her left arm at her side. "Are my assumptions correct, Margaret?"
"You knew that I knew?"
"Why, of course." Despite the pain both of them were in, Sia gave her a lopsided smile.
Then her right arm burst up, wrapping around Margaret's chin like the jaws of a bear trap. "After all..."
Margaret snarled as she struggled to stay still, eyes shut, but her head jerked up to greet her. She could feel blood start to pool and drip down her neck, and she knew she could only remain blind for so long.
"Aurions never look their prey in the eyes."
Margaret lifted her gaze at last and saw a glimmer of forbidden fire, the eyes of her captor like two cinders, staring right through her into her heart of hearts. And then back down, her hands finally gaining a grip on her blade. Margaret yelled and wrenched herself out of Sia's grasp, striking with her dagger as she did so. Sia landed up against a wall with a thud, head dropping limp.
She breathed raggedly. Margaret's hands were drenched in blood, and she feel a rushing of water in her ears. She couldn't think. She wanted to reach out and kill her. She wanted to run. She... she...
Why had she been so sloppy? Her head felt like the tip of a late-burning candle, shrinking, warping, melting...
How could she...
Margaret awoke in her chamber. The cool wind from an open window blew against her face. She tried moving a little, and winced at her wounds, which still felt relatively fresh.
Not a dream, she decided, and breathed deeply. She must have blacked out. There have been times where that has happened before. A rush of violence, a stream of blood, the minutes of battle that melt into each other until all that is left is a blur.
She had gotten a second wind. She must have done away with Sia, or she had at least wounded her badly. She had gotten back home and collapsed onto her bed and tried to not think about how she was incredibly careless. She had gotten home alone.
That's what Margaret said to herself. Outside, the wind whistled as something flapped its wings into the dark.