Chapter Text
When Drift heads up the hill, she’s surprised to find there’s a path there. Not much of one— a desire path. She supposes Cleo and Pearl must come up here— certainly Scott and Shelby don’t. Which is fair enough, obviously! Neither of them were close with the doc.
… Drift wasn’t really close with him either, but, this felt… important.
So she’d left the others at the castle, said something about wanting to go for a walk (which wasn’t a lie, she’s walking) and hoped no one would be following her in secret. She couldn’t hear any bat wings, or telltale footsteps, but… the paranoia wouldn’t leave her.
Is this how Pyro felt? No, no, of course not, Pyro was… unstable, having problems. It’s just… kind of creepy up here, that’s all. It’s fine.
The stone hones into view. A serviceable thing, kept mostly clean of overgrowth. No flowers, no iconography, not even birth and death dates; just block capitals carved painstakingly neatly into the front.
THE DOCTOR
Drift takes a deep breath, looks around because she still feels like she’s not alone, and begins to talk to a dead man.
“Hey. Uh. I’m not, expecting a response or anything, obviously. You’re, uh. Dead.”
A rotting hand fails to erupt from the ground. The fog neglects to coalesce into a grim spectre. She hadn’t expected any of those things, but you never knew in Oakhurst. Drift clears her throat, and continues.
“But… y’know, it was… it was you who got us all out, and… you always…” Her voice trails off into the crisp late-autumn air. “You seemed to know what to do a lot of the time.”
She pauses. She’s not going to get an answer, and she knows what he would say if he could. He didn’t like Scott, he was with the town until the very end, he’d be… biased. He’d be biased.
But you need to say this. But just because he had… strong opinions, that maybe weren’t right, and he would have come around eventually but there was never really time for that… that doesn’t mean he was wrong about everything.
Drift opens her mouth. Shuts it again. The fog is starting to seep into her jacket. Not that the cold’s much of a bother, but being wet definitely will be.
Gosh, why is this so hard?!
She keeps hesitating, feeling increasingly silly, until she clenches and unclenches her claws (that was something he’d said, actually. Tricks the body into thinking the threat has passed) (there’s no threat, obviously. Why would there be a threat?) and resolves herself.
“He’s… not…”
She crouches down, able to pick out a woodlouse skittering through the dirt. “He’s killing people.” she whispers, guilt hitting her instantly. She’s so tempted to listen to it, not make a fuss, because it’s been a while and he’s good otherwise and they do need to eat and it’s not like it’s lots of people oh my god, Drift, do you hear yourself?!
“Who’s killing people?!”
Drift bats on the spot, not that she can escape if she really has been overheard. This was a mistake, she shouldn’t have come—
Hiding among the blurred mass of wings, she recognises Pearl, and could faint from relief, before panic sets back in. “Oh, hey, Pearl!” Drift says as cheerfully as she can, transforming back and floating to the ground (she never liked that feeling at all, but it beat falling).
Pearl, usually so friendly, doesn’t lose the serious expression. “Who’s killing people.”
“Whaat? I didn’t— I didn’t say that—” Drift makes a show of checking her watch. “Gosh, it’s that late already, I think I have to get back—”
“Drift.” Pearl’s hands are suddenly on her shoulders, calloused palms catching against the tweed of Drift’s jacket. Her eyes aren’t normal— aren’t like the others. They aren’t red almost all. The irises that take up most of the space are a warm, animal yellow.
Drift is frozen, like prey, almost certain she can hear her heart pounding even though it hasn’t beat at all for almost thirty years. Her throat is dry, so dry she’s not sure any sound comes out at all when she replies.
There’s definitely no mistaking what she says, though, even if she’s only mouthing it. “Scott. It— It’s not been going on that long,” she says, words suddenly spilling out. “Or, I mean— It— It’s not— It didn’t start right after Oakhurst, or anything, he’s not been— he’s not been keeping secrets, or, he has, but not for decades or anything, just— just a few years,okay, maybe a little more than a few, a while—”
“Woah.” Pearl releases her and raises her hands placatingly. “Slow down.”
“—He started to come home in the mornings smelling like blood,” Drift continues, unable to stop if she tries, and half certain that if she stops, she’s never going to get the nerve to do this again, even if she lives a thousand years. “And, Shelby said that was probably fine, we drink blood, obviously, and I was like “yeah, you’re right, it’s probably nothing”, but then there were bloodstains on his clothes, just little ones, I kind of thought I was seeing things or that he was getting kinda messy when we ate, but it’s Scott, he’s kind of— he’s a vain guy and that’s not a bad thing, I think even he’d have to admit it” —she’s glad she doesn’t sweat, she would have been sweating like crazy right now if she was still alive— “But then I was out by myself, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I just, y’know, needed some air— except we don’t breathe anymore, it’s just nice to have a moment alone sometimes, without Shelby and Scott breathing down my neck— not that I have any problem with them, obviously! Aside from. Well. The maybe-probably-okay-he’s-definitely-murdering-people. Uh. I went out by myself, and, down this alley I could smell blood. Like, really strong, but I could also smell Scott. And I was worried so I just had a quick look and there was. A body.” Drift pants a little, apparently talking still needs some air. “She— Yeah. It— I tried to think of any other explanation, but, I don’t know that there even. Is one. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologise,” says Pearl, like it’s automatic. “… You know it was him?”
“I mean. Maybe there is another elder vampire who runs around Glasgow wearing three different perfumes. That is technically possible.” There had been cases where just when it had seemed like there was no way two people had this one super specific trait, turned out that there were actually two left-handed cellists missing an incisor who lived in New Orleans.
But not very often.
Pearl grins briefly, before her Serious Face returns. “Has he said anything?”
“Uh…” Drift wavers. “Not… really? I mean, in hindsight, there’s some stuff that should have been a bit sus. Or. Really sus. But—”
“Does he know you know, is what I’m asking.” Pearl interrupts patiently before she can go off rambling again. She’s been bottling this up for a while, alright?
“… I don’t think so.” But there is that worry, in the back of her mind, whenever she sees him grin in that knowing way that he does, that he’s just waiting for her to slip up…
“Even if he does know,” says Pearl. “There’s no way he knows we know he knows. So you can prepare.” She pats Drift on the shoulder. “Thanks for telling me. Dang it, I thought—” She looks away and sighs exasperatedly. “I dunno. This is why I did werewolves, not vampires! There’s no scheming with werewolves, just straightforward stabbin’!”
If there was blood to drain from Drift’s face, it would be draining like a gutter in a monsoon. “You aren’t— You aren’t gonna stab Scott, right?”
She grins playfully. “Maaaybe.”
“Don’t joke about that, Pearl, he— look, maybe he’s… relapsing, but he’s a…” The word “good” stays stubbornly in the back of Drift’s mouth. “I’m sure if we just talk to him, then it’ll all be fine.”
Pearl turns a questioning eye on her. “Then why haven’t you?”
“What?”
“That was kind of the deal, when we left Oakhurst. You and Shelby were gonna keep him on the straight and narrow, right?”
Oh. This is her fault.
“It’s not your fault,” Pearl adds, then laughs at Drift’s shock. “Sorry. Y’spend enough time around Cleo, you kind of learn to recognise that expression. Look,” she says. “I’m not just going to run in swinging. If he’s willing to talk, then yeah, I’ll talk. Everyone deserves a chance. But this is at least his third now and by the time you get much higher than that it stops seeming like giving them chances and starts seeming like making excuses. Sometimes you do just have to stab a guy.”
Drift doesn’t have a response to that. If she’d known this was the conclusion Pearl would come to she would have been a lot more cautious.
Deep down, the thought of someone else dealing with him is such a relief.
Pearl leans past her and eyes the cenotaph. “I can see why you wanted to come up here all on your lonesome, now.”
“… Yeah.” Drift manages, staring at it too. “I dunno, I just thought… I don’t know what I thought. Oh, uh…” She takes the bundle of daisies she gathered on the way and puts them against the stone.
Pearl smiles, with something else under it. “Y’know, I think you’re probably the first person to do that other’n me.” she says. “Don’t know that Cleo knows about leaving flowers for people. They’re up here a lot.” she adds, looking up slightly so her gaze is on the landscape.
Drift nods slowly. “It’s nice. Sort of… solemn, but I guess that works.”
“Apparently the sunset was really nice from up here.” The something else has turned wistful, and Drift’s staring at Pearl now, trying to untangle whatever twisted knot of feelings formed in her chest at those words. Oakhurst is blanketed in eternal night now. They’re all vampires, that’s definitely a pro.
And yet. Drift had to go right up to the border to find those daisies. No sun means no plants. No plants means not as many animals. Nothing’s growing here, Drift thinks, and doesn’t say aloud, because the atmosphere feels bitter enough. But it’s… it’s just how it is. How it has to be. Neither of us could go back if we wanted to.
Then she jumps as Pearl claps her on the back. “Come on.” It’s said gently; not a command or anything like that. Just a small prompting. “Maybe we’ll come to see you some time,” Pearl says as they turn and start to walk back down the slope. “Though, uh… travel’s not the easiest for us, right now. For me, really.”
“Really? What’s wrong?” Drift asks.
“Ah. Nothing to worry about.” That, Drift thinks, Could be the motto of Oakhurst. She doesn’t press, but she does watch, as they walk. Walk, notably, not bat. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen Pearl bat. There’s something stiff in Pearl’s movements, like she’s somehow favouring both legs. When her face settles, there’s a furrow in her brow. She’s hurting.
… Maybe she should press. “Are you sure?”
Pearl slows. “… There’s some… weirdness, with my being a vampire. It’s fine, me and Cleo have it covered, and you don’t need to worry about it. Okay?”
That wasn’t a reassuring answer, exactly, but it’s better than nothing. It’s “there is a problem but it’s handled”. That’s alright by Drift, even if Pearl is, what… vampire sick? Vampires didn’t get sick with normal diseases, but maybe there were some things that only affected vampires?
It’s none of your business. Drift scolds herself before her mind wanders any further. Pearl would have told you if it was. It’s fine. If Cleo and Pearl are dealing with it, there’s no way it’s not fine.
Scott and Shelby are waiting outside the castle when they arrive. Drift tries not to let her stomach sink at the sight. “Welp,” Pearl says, as if none of the gloomy discussions they’ve been having have happened. “I’m gonna go back to town. You remember what I told you.”
She blanks. She freezes. How is she supposed to respond to that in front of Scott. “Uh—”
“Do I have to say it again? I’ll say it again.” Pearl’s tone goes soft, although she still does a pretty solid job of sounding like she’s repeating herself. “Look after yourself, alright?”
“Oh. Right.” To be honest, Drift’s not sure what to do with that either. “Y— You too, Pearl.”
Pearl does not want to wait until they’ve gone to have this conversation. Unfortunately, the only times she can catch Cleo alone are when they’re busy, or sick of talking. When they wave the Goldsmiths off, Pearl doesn’t just feel a pang because she’s going to miss them (Drift and Shelby, anyway). It’s also a pang of “dang it, I didn’t want to chase him down.”
Then after that there’s tasks that have been neglected in light of their guests, and by the time they’re finally just sitting down, it’s been days. Nights. Whatever.
“I talked to Drift,” Pearl says. Cleo raises an eyebrow. “I mean— I’ve had a serious conversation with Drift. When she wanted to know where the doc’s grave was.”
“Why did she want to know that?” asks Cleo, not quite pointedly. Sometimes, Pearl’s thought on more than one occasion, you’d think she’s the guardian of just that one spot.
Outwardly, she shrugs. “Mostly, she just wanted to pay some respects, I think. But I went to make sure she didn’t get lost, and we ended up talking.”
Something must bleed into her tone. Cleo sits forward attentively, putting aside the latest batch of wool from the sheep. Carding is one of the many jobs she does when she’s supposed to be relaxing— though the way Cleo does it, it seems more like a hobby.
Pearl takes a moment to figure out how to say it. “Apparently,” she begins, “Scott has… broken the terms of his agreement. Drift told me he’s been killing people.”
It’s something of a relief that Cleo looks troubled. She gets on with Scott better than Pearl does. And, as Pearl has spent the last three decades learning, has really low standards. “Did you talk to him?” she asks eventually.
“I wanted to.” Pearl says, which feels like an excuse. Truth be told, she didn’t really. She planned to. That was different. “But he was always with Shelby, and…” she trails off with a sigh, because this is the part that she worries Cleo will disagree with. “This was his chance. And it hasn’t even been that long and he’s just… throwing it away like this. I don’t like it, Cleo.”
“… He’s an elder.” they reply with a shrug, low standards on full display. “And a frivolous one. I mean, I thought… But I shouldn’t be surprised.” The last part is said bitterly, and they pick the comb back up, evidently planning to get out some frustration.
“I think he’s gotta go.” Pearl says, not ready to drop it.
There’s a pause in Cleo’s movements. “… If he’s going to kill people,” she says. “Then that’s a risk we can’t take. Humanity shouldn’t know about vampires, and if he’s being reckless, which I don’t doubt that he is— yeah. He’s gotta go.” She doesn’t move to get up, something sad settling over her.
Pearl moves to her side. “I will talk to him.” she says. “I don’t think he’ll listen, but I’ll try.”
“No— No.” Cleo repeats themself when their voice comes out strange. “You are right.” Then, what she said seems to sink in. “Are you going after him?”
“Yeah.” She still has stuff left over from the old days. Admittedly, the silver will be useless, the holy water is extremely limited, and she doesn’t have tomes or beacons on her side, but she can pull something together, and it’s not hard to make a stake.
“Pearl.” Cleo’s expression turns deadly serious. “He’s an elder vampire. You’re still a fledgeling, worse, you’re a fledgeling with even less control than usual.”
“Hey!” Pearl protests. “I’ve got control! I’m a monster hunter, Cleo, I do know what I’m doing.”
“You can’t use silver,” they counter, annoyingly correctly. “Unless you drop down several tiers, in which case you’ll be weak enough to stake, and—” Their voice catches, then, and they cover their mouth.
Pearl puts her hand over their free one. “I’m not gonna let him kill me, Cleo.” she promises.
They shake their head. “Why you?” they ask, quiet enough that to a human ear it probably wouldn’t have been so obvious how close they were to tears. Pearl had always had sharp ears, though.
“‘Cause it’s what I do.” she replies. “I kill the things that kill people. Because there aren’t many who will.”
“Abolish.” Cleo suggests immediately. “Tip him off—”
“He didn’t exactly leave us an address, did he?” Pearl says, slightly indignantly. She’d liked Abolish, even if he was a bit… cold. Sometimes you needed cold people. If she ran into him on the way, she’d drop him an invite, but somehow, that didn’t strike her as likely.
She can’t ask Abolish. But, more than that, she doesn’t want to. It doesn’t sit right with her to hand this off to someone else to deal with. That’s not how Pearl operates. She wants to do this herself.
“Look, I— I have to do this, Cleo. Who else is going to? Drift is— so scared, it’s awful.”
“Drift’s always scared,” Cleo mutters, but without much bite. Though she hadn’t made it into the same category as Legs and Pearl, Cleo did have a soft spot for her.
The two of them sit in silence a moment longer. “I won’t ask you to come.” Pearl says eventually. “I don’t think you should.”
“You’re going to go by yourself?!” Cleo exclaims. The very thought upsets them to a point that a deep growl starts in their chest. “No. Absolutely not— you shouldn’t be alone, not yet—”
“I will not ask you,” Pearl interrupts, slowly and emphatically, “to help me kill someone.”
Cleo falls silent. “… I should be with you.” she mutters. “I’m supposed to look after you.”
“One of us should stay here,” argues Pearl. “Keep an eye on stuff. Feed Oscar.”
“Oscar doesn’t eat.” they snap.
There is a part of Pearl that wants to drop the whole idea, now. But she can’t. She can’t leave Drift, and she can’t let a monster run around eating people. Not even for Cleo’s sake.
She stands, but only so she can perch on the arm of the chair, and pulls Cleo into a hug. It took the first decade for them not to act like she was trying to attack them; even now, they feel slightly awkward. Faintly, through the bond Pearl’s only half tied to and that Cleo suppresses on the regular, she feels acceptance. Not acceptance— acquiescence.
“I won’t be long.” promises Pearl. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Cleo doesn’t respond aloud, but she turns her face into Pearl’s body, and wraps her own arms around her. Cleo is not a good hugger, there’s a little too much claw and it always feels a little more like she’s clinging onto something than being reassuring. Pearl doesn’t mind. Let her cling, for a moment.
They made it a condition of Pearl leaving, that she had to rest the day before. Admittedly, days are darker than nights in Oakhurst; at least at night you have the moon. But it’s how vampires do it, and so that’s the schedule they follow.
She’s lying halfway on top of Cleo, and her hair is everywhere. They don’t mind. The pressure on their chest is almost panic-inducing, sure— but there’s also something grounding about it. Something that makes them feel safe.
That’s Pearl. Pearl is safe.
There is a temptation, in the dark parts of Cleo’s thoughts that still won’t go away, to stop her going. By force, if she has to— and she will have to, because Pearl cares and she won’t let this go.
But Cleo can’t bring herself to.
The code goes through her mind less and less, these days. Sometimes she feels guilty about it; others, she can’t bring herself to care. Unpredictable risks must be eliminated.
Scott isn’t an unpredictable risk. He’s extremely predictable. And, if this behaviour keeps up, extremely risky. No, they decide. It’s not worth it.
Still, they will miss Pearl. It feels sentimental, given that she’ll be gone for a few months at most. The sensation won’t go away.
Cleo presses her face into Pearl’s hair and purrs, letting the quiet response lull her to sleep.