Chapter Text
The Goldsmith Castle got very dark after the sun set.
Not the ancient dignified dark one would expect from such a place. Not even the romantic dark where one could possibly reach over and steal a kiss. No. Just inconveniently dark—the kind of dark that made even the most dignified of vampires stub a toe on a piece of furniture they absolutely already knew was there.
Avid learned this the hard way.
He yelped softly as his poor foot collided with something unyielding and cursed under his breath, hopping once and grabbing at the nearest solid surface. Squeak reacted instantly, squealing in alarm and tightening his grip, pale wings fluttering against Avid’s neck as if preparing for immediate evacuation
“I am just saying,” he announced to the room at large, only putting his foot back on the floor once the pain had started subsiding, “that in New York, I could see after sunset.”
He did not even have to think about it before drifting instinctively toward Scott. Scott’s arm lifted without a word, steady and familiar, allowing Avid to lean in and press against his side. Avid sighed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
They were gathered in the newest sitting room—an oddly cosy addition to the castle that had been carved out of a former storage hall and refurnished with the kind of care that suggested no one wanted to admit how attached they’d become to it. Soft plush rugs layered over mahogany wood, mismatched couches arranged in a loose circle, a low table cluttered with bloody mugs, papers, and half-finished craft projects. It was where they ended their nights now, before retreating to bedrooms for the night.
Drift was slumped in one corner, boots kicked off, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. Papers spilled out of her bag and onto the floor, using candle light to try and decipher what she wrote in the morning.
“I spent six hours today arguing with a supernatural zoning committee,” she muttered. “If I have to read one more document by candlelight...”
Shelby, perched cross-legged on the arm of a couch with her notebook balanced on her knee, groaned softly. “I still have a fic to post tonight. Do you know how impractical it is to walk all the way to the café just to use the internet? By the time I get there, I’ll have rewritten the ending twice.”
Elle shifted where she was sprawled across the couch, head resting on Shelby’s lap. “Also, I know we all have night vision, but I’m realizing it does not actually solve anything. I want warm lighting! Ambience and depth!”
Avid lifted his head from Scott’s shoulder just long enough to add, “And I am actively studying chemistry and alchemy online. I can’t keep pretending this is sustainable when my notes are lit by three candles and hope.”
Scott made a small, thoughtful sound but did not immediately argue.
Instead, he looked around the room—the rugs, the couches, and how the place had changed into a wonderful collage of all the mismatched furniture they brought from New York. His castle. His very carefully preserved castle.
“I am not opposed to light,” he said slowly. “I am opposed to an electrician putting holes in my walls.”
Elle sat up. “That’s your objection?”
“Yes,” Scott replied calmly. “It is a very old castle.”
“And?”
“And it has survived too much,” he said, patting the cobblestone wall near him. “It will not be undone by a man with a drill.”
Avid smiled faintly, fond despite himself, and tucked closer into Scott’s side again.
Drift blinked. “Wait. So you’re not against the idea. You just don’t want… outside help.”
Scott said nothing, which was answer enough.
Shelby’s pen paused mid-scratch. “Okay but if we don’t hire anyone, how are we—”
“We do it ourselves,” Avid said, immediately.
Elle’s eyes lit up. “Oh, absolutely.”
Drift frowned. “You two are aware this involves redstone, right?”
Avid nodded eagerly. “Yes. I am very aware.”
Elle pointed at herself. “I literally run a café powered by it.”
Drift leaned back, considering. “I’m not great with redstone. But I am good at planning, and noticing when something is a terrible idea. So I think I can help.”
Scott eyed her. “You would be… supervision.”
She gave a tired, crooked smile. “Someone has to be!”
There was a pause as Scott considered the idea. He glanced around the sitting room—the low, uneven light of the candles, the shadows pooling in corners that had been softened only recently by rugs and cushions and the quiet presence of people who now treated this space as theirs. New York had, unfortunately, spoiled him. The convenience of light at the flick of a switch had been hard to forget, no matter how much he pretended otherwise. “…We start tomorrow,” he added. “Carefully.”
Avid beamed.
“Tomorrow,” Elle echoed, already sounding pleased with herself, like the decision had been inevitable all along.
Shelby closed her notebook with a thoughtful hum. “Honestly? I can’t wait to see how terribly this goes,” she said fondly. “A centuries-old castle. Redstone. No professionals. It’s inspired, I should start writing it down.”
Drift laughed under her breath, more awake now than she’d been all evening. She shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Ruth, who had climbed into her lap at some point and settled there with the air of a cat who had opinions but was willing to observe for now. “I think it’ll be fine,” she said. “Hard? Sure. But you have to admit it’s kind of exciting too.”
Scott made a quiet sound of agreement. He had been staring into the candlelight, expression thoughtful rather than resistant now. The truth—unfortunate as it was—was that New York had spoiled him. He remembered rooms that stayed warm without hauling in logs, remembered not having to scrub ash from stone every morning, remembered how simple it was to banish the cold with a switch instead of an armful of firewood.
He reached out without thinking, fingers brushing lightly against Avid’s arm. Avid leaned into the touch immediately, pleased, and Squeak took that as an invitation to curl closer, tucking himself warmly on the space between them and peeking out with large and bright, satisfied eyes.
“It will be good,” Scott said at last. “Not having to fight the cold every night. Not having to keep relighting fires.” A pause. “…And not chopping lumber every morning would be an improvement.”
Elle grinned. “See? Practical.”
Drift nodded. “And if it means fewer ashes to clean up, I’m in.”
The candles guttered as a draft slipped through the room, reminding them all exactly how cold the castle could get once the fire died down.
Somewhere just beyond the circle of light, the castle creaked.
Ruth flicked her tail once and did not look pleased, but no else seemed to notice the castle’s displeased sounds.