Between These Words Unspoken
Part: 3 of ?
Characters: Lamont/Conrad/Worth, Patrizio (in passing), a tall, dark stranger with a medical bag (another OC) and another surprise towards the end.
Rating: PG-13 for language, mild violence and implied shenanigans. (Eventual NC-17)
Synopsis: What kinds of trouble can kids get into with a bike, a car and an earful of Motorhead? Then, cursing, cleaning and a strange, unsettling light show.
Author's notes: This is as much as I've got so far. Next update will be when my schedule allows!
Pushing his thick legs steadily on the pedals of his pock-marked bike, Lamont powered through endless tracts of gleaming suburban sprawl toward his destination. He tried not to let it show, the embarrassment he felt at the scuffed, rattling hand-me-down he was riding, for there was nothing to be done about it. At fifteen, his transportation options still remained bike or the trials of public transit. When taking into account the possibly delicate contents of the parcel he was entrusted with, the decision had been easy to make. So, pride firmly swallowed, he propelled himself onward, clunking his way past the viridian squares framing each picture perfect house, immaculately manicured and maintained, held in check by trim white fences and carefully crafted walls of vegetation. They almost seemed to be watching him, marking his progress, whispering in silent solidarity a solemn mantra of, “don’t belong…don’t belong…don‘t belong…”
He couldn’t help but feel they might be right.
If he thought about it, though, this humiliating excursion was a small price to pay, even when taking his mortification into account. In his time spent with Uncle Pat -over a year now- he’d learned quickly just how intolerant of failure the man was. The vitriolic nature of his temper would cut deep and quick; words spilling out amongst flecks of spittle to remove with near surgical precision the bits of self respect you fought to keep hidden from his trenchant, watery eyes. Any shame he felt over the blatant mark of poverty he currently sat astride was nothing when compared with that. The mere thought of it had him peddling faster, eager to finish his delivery and please his difficult familial employer.
The bike creaked in protest, corroded surfaces shuddering under his exertions. Trying not to think on the worrisome vibrations trembling along its rusted frame, Lamont instead let his thoughts wander toward the nature of his latest dispatch.
Patrizio had been insistent that Lamont not be told what, exactly, he currently had strapped to his back. The contents of his delivery were obfuscated by soft, voluminous layers of purple cloth, shielded from his prying eyes, and no amount of cajoling or wheedling on the part of his nephew had produced any answers.
“C’mon, Uncle Pat,” he’d coaxed, “what‘s there to hide? It’s not like I haven’t helped you move creepy stuff before. Like remember that head? That kept blinking at me and trying to talk? I helped you just fine with that one, didn’t I?”
The response he’d gotten was a sharp cuff to the back of his head and an order to shut his “smart-ass mouth.”
“Don’t need ta tell you shit, Monty,” Patrizio had wheezed, sagging jowls practically vibrating with his irritation. “When I want ya to know about somethin’, I’ll tell ya.” He’d stood firm, too, unmoved by Lamont’s continuing, inquisitive pleas.
Lamont frowned, irritation spiking through him once again at the perceived slight. What, did Uncle Pat still think he was some dumb kid? That he’d run crying home to Ma ‘cause Monty-kins was scared of the monsters lurking in the shadows? And there were monsters, Lamont knew that now. Had even seen a handful of them, glimpses he’d caught when he’d snuck into the shop’s back room after Patrizio thought he’d left for the day. He’d watched with fascinated horror as the rotund, quivering form of his uncle had dealings with all manner of devils. Some with claws, some with fur, some with blood-red eyes that Lamont just knew were aware of his presence.
In all those times, though, despite most likely being keen to the raven headed voyeur hidden amongst the clutter of crates and boxes, they never called him out. It left Lamont feeling an odd sense of kinship with the fiends. They could easily have brought him to his uncle’s notice, yet they had all chosen to keep his presence unrevealed. Creatures that didn’t know him. Monsters that owed him nothing. Puzzling actions that further sparked his burning curiosity.
Lamont pedaled leisurely, eyes paying only scant attention to the road as his thoughts meandered through his memories. So intent was he on his reminisces that he didn’t notice the soft purr of the engine until it was almost on him, snapping back to the present with barely enough time to swerve out of the car’s speeding path.
He jerked to the side, front wheel bumping against the curb. Letting out a long string of creative swears, he struggled to overcome his shock and wrestle the bike back under his control as it jarred between his legs and threatened to topple. Only after he’d regained his balance and brought himself to a complete stop did he notice the car had paused also, engine still thrumming eagerly inside the glistening red contours of its glinting frame.
“Hey asshole!” Lamont finally screamed, face red with fury. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, huh? You coulda killed me, there!”
“Yeah, an’ I’d prolly get a medal for doin’ it, riddin’ the world of a bloody awful fuck-up like you,” came the drawled response, familiar accented voice trickling out through an open window.
Alarm spiking through him, Lamont dismounted, leaning his bike against a tree before hurrying over to peer into the car. He was met with the smirking face of the young man most likely to be named juvenile delinquent of the decade. His long fingers tapped idly at the car‘s steering wheel, eyes sparkling mischievously beneath a thatch of messy blond hair. His neighbor-by-way-of-back-fence and habitual partner in crime: Luce Worth.
“Arvo Mont, how ya goin‘?”
“Luce,” Lamont said slowly, carefully, not wanting to sound in any way encouraging. “What are you doing?”
“Whassit look like, ya stupid fuck?” Luce replied, adjusting the ratty fur collar on the battered aviator jacket he’d taken to wearing lately. “‘M drivin’.”
“Yeah, you and what license?” Lamont said peevishly. He hated when Luce called him stupid. “You don’t even have your permit yet.”
“An’ why should I bother with one?” Luce snapped. “I drive jus’ fine.”
“Fine enough to almost run me over?” Lamont grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring.
“Wot, that?” Luce sniffed, grin never leaving his face. “Completely not my fault. I mean, when there’s somethin’ as big as yer fat ass, ‘s pract‘ly ‘mpossible ta get ‘round!”
Lamont sighed, rolling his eyes as he started walking back toward his bike. Fat jokes? Really? How original.
“Bikes have the right of way, you know,” he grumbled, mostly to himself, not wanting Luce to know he was getting to him. Just because they were friends (mostly), that didn’t mean it was ever smart to show any signs of weakness around the blond. All that ever seemed to do was encourage him to new heights of awfulness.
“Can’t blame me fer this one, Mont!” Luce called after him, cringe-worthy vocabulary ringing cheerily across the neighborhood. “Yer grav’tational pull, sucked me right in!”
“You’re such an asshole, Luce!” Lamont yelled over his shoulder. Crazy Aussie bastard. Whatever stupid stunt Luce was pulling, he didn’t have time for it right now. Lamont had a job to do. Yanking his bike toward him, he quickly remounted, pointedly refusing to look in the car’s direction before he started furiously pedaling away.
Luce, of course, followed.
“’Ey,” he called out the window, matching Lamont’s speed, bringing the car up beside him. “Th’ fuck ‘er ya doin’?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Lamont wheezed, somewhat breathless with how forcefully he was exerting himself.
“Like ye’r bein’ a complete whacker, tha’s what,” Luce sharp voice bit out, clearly irritated he wasn’t getting the response he wanted. “C’mon, get th’ fuck in.”
“I’m busy,” Lamont growled in frustration, “Whatever stupid thing you’ve got planned, I don’t have time for it right now.”
“Well how d’ya like that?” Luce groused. “After all th’ trouble I went to gettin’ us this car.”
“Stealing you mean,” Lamont shot back.
“Borrowin’,” was the growled response. “’S my dad’s so i’s not like I’m fer real takin’ it. Now stop ped’lin’ tha’ stupid thing an’ get th’ fuck in here!”
Lamont braked suddenly, planting his feet on either side of the bike as he crossed his arms, glowering at the blond. Luce responded by bringing the car to a screeching halt, glaring back. The two boys sat scowling, neither wanting to be the first to cave. Young male pride forcing them to remain locked in an interminable battle of wills. The minutes ticked by, accented by the persistent, powerful thrum of the engine. Soft sounds spilled out from the perfect homes surrounding them, the innocuous buzz of meticulously choreographed lives washing over their impromptu standoff.
It was Lamont who broke first (Lamont always broke first), unable to stop the nervous trickle of laughter beginning to shake his broad frame. Luce leered triumphantly, knowing what the laugh signaled. He tilted his head cockily, eyes flashing at his snickering companion, savoring his victory.
“Get in th’ fuckin’ car, Mont,” he grinned, leaning over to pop the passenger door open.
“What about my bike?” Lamont asked stubbornly, still not entirely ready to concede. The car was a small, sporty affair. Most definitely meant for shuttling people around in style, not hauling rusty cycles to and fro.
“What about yer bike?” Luce shot back. “What, ya think someone’s gonna take it? Have ya looked where yer ridin’?”
“I really need to make this delivery,” Lamont said, though he’d already propped the bike against a nearby tree and edged closer, finally letting himself admire the sleek lines of the car. It was gorgeous: glossy, cherry red exterior flowing gracefully around the cream-colored leather interior. It vibrated gently, as if it could barely stand being kept in one spot for so long.
“I’ll drive ya there,” Luce said, patting the passenger seat coaxingly. “C‘mon mate, whattaya got ta lose?” Lamont stood next to the vehicle, considering. Reaching out tentatively, he ran his hand along the sparkling doorframe, caressing the mobile symbol of wealth.
It struck him again just how unfair it was that someone like Luce, someone so purposefully awful, was the one with the access to such serious wealth. If he’d even so much as dreamed of taking off with a car half as nice, he’d be carted off before the key even hit the ignition. He studied his friend; his eager expression, the ill fitting clothes he’d probably nicked from the Goodwill (’cause God knows Belinda would never allow her son to wear them) hanging off the gangly body he still hadn’t managed to grow into, looking for all the world like a demented, leather-clad hobo. Looked and wondered, once more, why life seemed so stacked against him.
Suddenly ashamed for the uncharitable thoughts (it wasn’t Luce’s fault, anyways, that Lamont’s family wasn’t as well off), he nodded to himself. Well, if Luce had gone to the trouble of stealing a car, accepting his offer was, of course, the polite thing to do…
The blond practically crowed as he saw Lamont slinging his delivery from his back, cradling it gently as he eased his way in. He sat gingerly, sliding into the soft, luxurious contours of the seat. Luce graced Lamont with a gleeful smirk as he swung the door shut.
“Tha’s more like it,” he chortled, practically bouncing in his seat with impish glee. “So, where we goin’ then?”
“House is at Deward and Filch,” Lamont said, waving in the direction he’d been pedaling.
“Christ Mont, you were gonna bike yer way there?” Luce asked, eyebrow quirking upward as he glanced at his friend.
“Not that far,” Lamont shrugged, re-adjusting the parcel in his lap.
“Think ‘far‘ must mean somethin‘ diff’rent ta you, then,” Luce said, turning his eyes toward the road. “Any rate, le’s see how fast I can get this thing to go!”
Lamont couldn’t help but wince as he heard Luce grinding his way through the gears, lurching the car forward as the engine groaned in protest. “Sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked, gripping the armrest as the car shuddered and nearly died.
“Got myself here, didn’ I?” Luce muttered, face twisted in concentration. “Fuckin’, just, there we go!” He grinned defiantly, finally having gotten the car into third, engine purring happily once more as they shot forward.
Watching the quiet neighborhood screaming past his window, Lamont couldn’t help the laughter starting to eke its way from his throat. His body was tingling fiercely with the sharp acceleration, thrilling up his spine as his heart rate climbed. Luce looked over, eyes flashing wildly, face still split with his monstrous, crooked grin.
“Ace, yeah?” he said gleefully, eyes snapping back just in time to avoid hitting a car trying to putt its way through the intersection they were crossing.
“It’s a Porsche, right?” Lamont snickered, laughter climbing up an octave as he clung to the armrest. Jesus, shouldn’t Luce be paying more attention to the road?
“911 turbo,” the blond said blithely. “Or, as I like ta call it, the Lucivious Worth Midlife-Crisis-Mobile.” He took a sudden sharp turn, slamming Lamont into his door, cackling at the resulting string of curses. “Old bastard jus’ got it this mornin’, figured I’d help break it in for ’im.”
“How nice of you,” Lamont said, gripping his fist tighter, knuckles starting to whiten. He was pretty positive he’d felt two of the car’s wheels leaving the ground as they rounded that last bend. Luce merely sneered, rolled his window down (which made Lamont snicker even louder, shouldn’t he be keeping both hands on the wheel at this speed?), laughing again as wind began buffeting over them.
“We need some tunes!” Luce declared loudly. “Reach in my pocket, eh Mont? I brought some wiv’ me.”
“It’s not more of that stupid metal stuff, is it?” Lamont shouted, voice almost lost in the sound of rushing air.
“Ey, fuck you, nothin’ wrong with metal!” Luce bellowed with a scowl. “’Sides, it’s Motorhead. I fuckin’ defy you to even try an’ not like ‘em!”
“It all sucks,” Lamont said stubbornly, even as he fished the cassette out of Luce’s coat. “All of it.” Luce merely replied by flipping him off, snatching the tape from his hand and shoving it in the tape deck. Lamont winced as the sound of loud, noxious guitars immediately stabbed at his ears, overpowering even the sound of the rushing wind. An angry, growling voice soon followed, aggressively fighting against the growing cacophony of wailing, slamming instruments. Luce grinned, reveling in Lamont’s discomfort before starting to holler along, voice off-key and cracking.
“Home cookin‘, homo-cide! Side order, could be yer daughter! Finger lickin’ good! Oooooooo c’mon baby, eat the rich! Put the bite onna sonuva bitch!”
Lamont leaned over, yelling to be heard over the din. “Fucking stupid, Luce!”
“C’mon baby,” Luce warbled, louder than before, “eat the riiiiiiiich!”
It was luck pure and simple that put Luce in a charitable enough mood to lower the volume as they reached their destination. He forced the car into neutral with minimal grinding, leaving the motor idling as he finally took notice of their purple-clad cargo.
“What issit this time?” he asked, mild curiosity coloring his acne dotted face.
“Dunno,” Lamont replied, “Pat wouldn’t let me see.”
“And?” came the pointed response. “What’s stoppin’ yeh now, ya nong?”
“Hey, shuddap,” Lamont snapped back. “Could be hexed or something.”
“Yer face is fuckin’ hexed. Seriously Mont,” Luce sneered as he reached nimble fingers toward the parcel, “yeh worry too much.” Lamont snatched it away, shielding it behind his broad frame.
“Look,” he exclaimed, anxiety spiking as Luce tried to reach around him, “you don’t know my uncle. He’d have zero problems, none, with, like, cursing me or something. You do not fuck with his stuff, Luce. Man is not nice.”
“Hey, whaddaya know,” Luce drawled, “neither am I!” He chuckled as he leaned in closer, long arms snaking around his dark haired friend as he tried again to snag the velvet swaddled bundle. “So much we got in common!”
“I’m serious Luce, back off!” Lamont slapped at the blond’s shoulder.
“C’mon mate,” Luce wheedled, undeterred by Lamont’s growing anger. “S’only fair, seein’ how I drove it ‘ere an’ everythin‘.”
“Fuck you, man!” Lamont snarled as he landed the day’s first punch.
The car rocked to and fro with the resulting scuffle, a chorus of curses and smacks ringing out through the open windows.
“Give it ‘ere!”
“Not on your life, you fucking-”
“’Ey tha’s my ear ya bloody-”
All struggles ceased as the cover, jostled during the argument, fell back. A shimmering, violet light flooded out into the car, emanating from the smooth, round sphere the parted cloth revealed. What lay inside the globe, though, was what stole their breaths and stilled their flailing limbs. Flitting to and fro frantically, buzzing on translucent wings, fists beating against the glass, was a tiny woman.
A fairy.
The two boys stared, cradling the ball between them as the colored light washed across their stunned faces. Whatever material the sphere was made of must have been designed to dampen sound, because the two were unable to hear any of the diminutive being’s struggles. They could see her lips moving, though, clearly pleading with them to free her.
“Mont,” Luce finally said, eyes still on the sight between them. “Mate, wha’ do we-”
“We?” Lamont asked quietly, barely a whisper. “We?” he choked. “WE Luce?” he screamed, eyes blazing as they flew up towards the dumbstruck blond. “There is no fucking we in this!” he screeched, eyes wild and desperate. “There is me! Doing my fucking job! I told you not to mess with it!”
“Lamont,” Luce said softly, face still blank with shock, “you can’t seriously mean-”
“You don’t know what it’s fucking like, Luce!” Lamont railed, face turning an ugly, blotchy red, breath panting out like he was at a dead run. “You have no idea how fucking hard it is!” He yanked the sphere from Luce’s bony fingers, cradling it to his chest as he turned to stare sightlessly through the windshield.
Why hadn’t Luce just left it alone? He could have done forever without knowing. Even finding out after, he could have done that. Explained it away, figured out some way to excuse himself from handing the creature over. He did know, though, there was no undoing the fact he‘d seen it. That he’d have to do this knowingly. He knew and even if he wasn’t looking, it was as if he could feel it buzzing inside the ball, like he was holding a trapped insect that was battering against the sides of a glass jar. He’d been so happy earlier, imagining all the different places his new exciting life could take him. So happy…
“There’s nothing I can do,” he said after a long moment. “I just, this is all I’ve got, Luce.” He refused to look at his friend, head bowed, eyes cinched shut. “I’m not…I… there’s nothing…” His voice trailed off as it started to crack. He could feel the other boy staring at him, deep set eyes drilling into the side of his face. He was dimly aware that he was giggling again, a stupid, nervous habit he’d had ever since he could remember. All his plans, the dreams of freedom and escape, quivered in his chest, fluttering wings brushing against a rib cage that felt so cracked and fragile he could practically feel it starting to cave. His hands stuttered along the sphere’s sides, streaks of sweat painting its smooth curves where he touched.
The pressure of Luce’s hand falling on his shoulder steadied his fraying thoughts. No words were spoken, but he could feel his friend’s sympathy, his understanding at what Lamont was about to do, broadcast through the simple human contact. It was how it always was between the two of them, more said in touch than could ever be expressed in clumsy words. Heaving a deep sigh that shook his very foundations, Lamont glanced over at his companion.
“I’ll wait for ya,” Luce said finally, giving his shoulder a squeeze before turning to face front. Lamont smiled weakly, fumbling clumsily to rewrap the sphere, doing his best to ignore the increasing frenzy of its occupant. Once it was covered, he glanced once more in Luce’s direction, eyes mutely broadcasting his thanks as he exited the vehicle.
The exchange itself was a brief affair. A stiff hand off to the suit-clad servant who answered the door. His stiffly starched shirt practically crinkled as he leaned down to extract the parcel from Lamont’s trembling hands.
“My master will send payment shortly,” the servant hissed, flashing a mouthful of needle sharp teeth at Lamont in what was probably meant as a smile. Fighting not to flinch, he smiled back weakly, nodding his agreement and murmuring his farewells as he backed away from the door. He hurried back to the car, struck by how its cheery rumbling and sleek lines now seemed garish instead of gorgeous. Too bright and lovely a thing in the face of what had just transpired.
He was returned to his bike in silence, neither boy feeling the need to talk about the incident. It was as he’d left it, propped listlessly against the large tree, as run-down and rusted as ever.
Sighing as he exited the car, he walked toward it with a heavy heart, hating the thought of how much pedaling was ahead of him before he was back home. To hell with the tongue lashing he’d get later for not going back to the shop. He couldn’t go back today, not after that. Besides, it would give him more time to come up with a story to explain his shell-shocked face. Because Lamont was a very creative, conniving boy. It’s what made him so useful. Made Patrizio keep him around. Gave him the opportunity to continue helping his uncle with his business.
“Thanks for driving,” he said, looking back toward his friend as he slung a leg up over the seat.
“I’ll call yeh when Dad’s done bein’ pissed,” Luce said, half-hearted smirk playing across his lips.
“Think he’s called the cops on you?” Lamont asked, bracing his foot against a pedal.
“Pfeh,” Luce scoffed, “think he’d be too embarrassed having t’explain his only son’s a car-stealing git.”
“Heh,” Lamont couldn’t help but chuckle. “Prob’ly.”
“See ya, Mont.” Luce’s hand lifted in a careless farewell before drifting back toward the gear shift. He paused, looked back up as if to add something more, then shrugged instead. Lamont could feel the slight smile that crept to his face as he heard Luce once again abusing his way through the car’s gears, lurching the vehicle forward before finally reaching a maintainable speed.
He watched until the car was nothing more than a crimson speck on the horizon before pushing off the sidewalk. Pedaling steadily, repetitive motion working to send his mind drifting into a numbing lull, he floated past the rows of perfect houses. Forcing it all deep down, mask in place, he held his threadbare dreams in a head scraped clean, longing for things that could not be.
~.~.~
Pausing as he finished helping Luce settle into a more comfortable jumble of pointy, dread angles, Lamont worriedly eyed the yellow pallor his friend’s face was taking on. He’d already set in motion all that could be done in the scant hours left before daylight, but they’d be useless if the man died before they could actually be achieved. Noticing the hesitation, Luce cracked a lid open to peer up at him, eyes bloodshot and tired.
“Quit it,” he snapped, scowling at whatever expression he saw stamped on Lamont’s face.
“Oh sorry,” Lamont said acidly, making a few, final adjustments to the pillows and blankets he’d arranged around the doctor. “I keep forgetting how difficult it must be to have me worrying about you.”
“Not like there’s anythin’ yeh could do ta make it better,” Luce said tiredly. “’M as comft’able as I’m gonna get, an’ we’re sealed in ‘til mornin’.” He let his eye fall shut again, melting exhaustedly into his nest of coverings. Lamont eyed the several blotchy, crimson patches that were already showing on the bandages he’d wrapped around Luce’s head, fingers itching for something to do.
“You sure you don’t have a counter spell around here somewhere?” he asked hopefully. “Maybe a lock picking rune? Anything?”
“Idiot,” Luce grumbled crossly. “One, no I don’. Two, rune crossin’s a fuckin’ terrible idea. S’pecially when they’re all comin’ from th‘ bloody ginger freak. An’ three, safer this way. Means Abby has to stay th’ fuck outside.”
Lamont rose to his feet, starting to pace restlessly around the blood spattered clinic. “But if you’re looking this bad now-” he began, running a hand through his unruly hair.
“Oi,” Luce growled, eyes drifting open to pin his friend with a glare, “didn’ yeh hear me? Nothin’ ta be done. S’fuckin’ get over it.” He closed his eyes again, grumbling under his breath as he shifted around, trying to find a position that didn’t result in sharp, stabbing pain.
The crabby, broken blond was right, Lamont knew that, but he still couldn’t shake his overwhelming urge to do something. Some sort of thing that involved more than waiting around hoping Luce would live until morning. His pacing stopped, though, when a sudden thought hit him.
“Shit, Conrad’s still in the back!” He whirled toward the door, hurrying forward several steps then stopping, not sure what his next move should be.
“Nicely done, Mont,” Luce drawled, voice still managing to drip condescension despite his sorry state. “Bet tha’s really helpin’ smooth things over with th‘ fag.”
“Shut up,” Lamont barked, turning back to glare at his friend. “I was busy.”
“Busy bein’ a complete failure,” Luce said, cracking an eye open and shooting him a wavering grin. “As usual.”
“Should prob’ly feed him,” Lamont mused, choosing to ignore Luce’s jibes. “Did you use up all those blood bags I brought?”
“Sorry Mont, couldn’t say,” the blond sneered, “was too busy fightin’ fer my life ta take an inventory for ya.”
“Oh for Chrissakes,” Lamont exclaimed, stress and the late hour finally working his last nerve. Rolling his eyes as he headed over to the fridge where Luce kept his supply, he knelt before it, peering into its recesses. “Next time don’t fucking bother playing hero,” he snapped at the doctor’s prone form. “Not if you’re gonna bitch at me afterwards like a fuckin’ frigid ass housewife.”
“The fuck d’you get off callin’ me a housewife,” Luce spat viciously as Lamont began rummaging around the stained, sticky shelves, “ya fuckin’ fat-ass, limp-dick excuse of a-”
“Found them,” Lamont grated, holding up a crumpled bag of B negative in a hair-covered hand.
“-useless bloody-” Luce was still snarling, working up a good head of steam now as he struggled to sit upright, “tha’ was dropped as a fuckin’ baby when the fuckin’ nurse saw yer warped tiny-”
Lamont growled as he rose, waving a hand dismissively in Luce’s direction as he clomped off toward the kitchen.
“You know,” he called over his shoulder, “I don’t even care anymore if you make it til morning.”
“-whose mother was nothin’ more ‘n a-”
“Rot in hell Luce!” Lamont bellowed, yanking open a cupboard door with such force he nearly tore it off its rickety hinges. He muttered furiously under his breath as he tried to block out the continuing stream of insults. Face twisted downward in a scowl, he started rifling through the shelves. It wasn’t that he really wanted Luce dead, it was just that sometimes (like, say, right now for example), he couldn’t help fantasizing about the asshole just rolling over and dying. A cessation of life so he could stop making everyone, Lamont in particular, so goddamn miserable. Still grumbling, he snatched out what was now known as “Connie‘s Mug” from the topmost shelf.
He wasn’t sure where the doctor had found it; a large, white thing with the words “I AM SO GAY” emblazoned across the front. It had been Conrad’s birthday present and had resulted in a full week of no vampiric presence in the doctor’s foul clinic. (Luce had maintained it was still worth it, if only for the look on the princess’s face when he unwrapped it.) Lamont had lost count of how many times it had been fished from the trash, saved from destruction and placed back in the cupboard. Luce had even gone so far as to throw out the rest of his mismatched collection of mugs, ensuring the only option available to hold the beverages of his fussy guest remained this single, hideous atrocity. The day Conrad had emerged from the kitchen clenching it in his hand without comment was the day Lamont knew Luce had won that particular battle.
Slamming the mug down on the kitchen counter, he emptied the bag’s contents into its spotless contours before popping it into the ancient, filth speckled microwave. He drew in a deep breath as he scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration, trying to force his anger out as he exhaled. He was just grumpy, he knew that. And worried. Scared for Luce like he hadn’t been for years. Sure he’d seen the asshole through some pretty nasty scrapes, but this one was really… well. Guess he should be grateful the fucker was yelling at him like he was. He couldn’t imagine a dying man having the energy to spend on cussing at him like that. (Though God knows Luce always managed to be an exception to just about every rule.)
Jolted from his thoughts by the microwave’s ping, he pulled out the warmed mug, taking the time to find a spoon and stir its quickly coagulating contents to ensure the heat was distributed evenly. Then, squaring his shoulders, he tread slowly toward the living area of Luce’s clinic, sluggish mind trying desperately to wake enough to properly deal with the potentially surely bloodsucker.
He found Conrad in the bedroom, sitting on the dingy mattress, engrossed in his work. He had a sketchpad sitting on his lap, held his place with a pale, slender hand. Staring intently, his pencil was sliding deftly across the paper’s smooth surface, movements swift and sure as he left his marks across the page. Lamont could see that his earbuds were in, cord leading to his iPhone lying next to him on the mattress. He clomped slowly into the room, making sure his footsteps were heavy, sending slight vibrations into the mattress that caused the vampire’s sharp, red eyes to glance up from the page.
“Heh, hey,” Lamont said, smiling nervously as he extended the mug. “I brought you dinner.”
“Thank you,” Conrad murmured, removing the earbuds and extracting the mug from Lamont’s grasp. He wrapped his hands around it as he drank eagerly, trying no doubt to warm his bloodless flesh.
Lamont raised a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing awkwardly as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He had no idea how to start this conversation. He’d been so intent on making sure Luce was alright that he hadn’t really formulated a plan of attack when it came to Conrad.
“Conrad,” he cleared his throat when his voice emerged as nothing more than a croak, fighting tooth and nail against the laughter bubbling in his throat. “Conrad, I-”
“How’s Worth?” the vampire interrupted, worry clearly visible in the tense line of his shoulders.
“Resting,” Lamont said, relief filtering through him as he latched onto the subject. Of course Conrad would want to know about Luce before talking about, other things. “Won’t lie, he’s in pretty bad shape, but I have someone coming soon as morning hits to take a look at him.”
“Why morning?” Conrad asked, clenching his fingers more tightly around the mug. “Can’t you get someone any sooner?”
“I could,” Lamont said, not bothering to fight the irritation coloring his tone, “but Worth sealed the door shut.”
“Huh?” Conrad asked in puzzlement, “sealed how?”
“Runes,” Lamont replied with a sigh. “Did it when I wasn’t looking.” He let his hand drop, looking to the side as he asked the question obviously forming on the vampire’s lips. “No, there’s nothing we can do to remove it, Worth said we’ll just have to wait.”
“Can Worth afford to wait?” Conrad asked quietly, eyes boring into Lamont, searching his face.
“Guess he’ll have to,” Lamont said softly. “Nothing else we can do.”
Conrad looked down pensively into his mug, fingers drumming along its sides. Lamont continued standing, unsure of what else to say.
“Conrad,” he began again.
“I’m going to see how Worth’s doing,” Conrad said abruptly. “Should be fine, now that I’ve eaten.”
“O- oh,” Lamont said, floundering, “okay, he’s uh, he’s still out front.” The vampire rose stiffly, gliding towards the door. On impulse, Lamont’s hand shot out, grabbing Conrad’s slender arm as he passed by. “Conrad,” he said, pleading, “I know…” he trailed off, releasing his hold when Conrad glared down where he’d gripped the vampire’s bloodstained shirt. “Look,” he said, deciding it best to just get the words out. “I know now isn’t the best…the time, and all, but we’ll talk. After. I swear.”
“Talk?” Conrad asked softly, head turning slowly to look back at the dark haired man behind him, face cool and impassive. “You think we have something to talk about?”
He could feel his mouth opening and closing, probably making him look just as lost and foolish as he felt.
“Lamont?”
“Um,” he struggled to talk around the choking sensation gripping his throat. “Um, we uh, I just thought… no?”
The sinking sensation he felt as Conrad turned his back without a word and strode from the room was unexpected. This was what he’d wanted after all, wasn’t it? Conrad not yelling? Being reasonable, sort of?
His eyes had been so cold. Like Lamont was nothing to him. Nothing at all.
Shaking himself from his stupor, Lamont plodded from the room, dragging himself back toward the clinic’s front room. He watched from the doorway, leaning tiredly against its frame as Conrad knelt next to the injured doctor, worry pinching at his face.
“Worth,” he said gently, “you awake?” Lamont could hear muttered grumblings escaping the battered blond as his body shifted about slowly. Conrad’s hand immediately shot out, pressing against a pointy shoulder, trying to still the movement.
“Jesus,” the vampire said in a thin, unsteady voice, “should you even be moving? You look awful.”
“Ain’t tryin’ ta win any beauty contests, Fagula” was the grumbled response. A small smile creased Conrad’s face at Luce’s muttered insult. The smile grew as a bony, yellowed hand reached up to pat the vampire’s slim chest. “’Ey puppy,” Luce drawled, voice scratchy and strained.
Lamont looked on as the two bantered briefly, light insults traded back and forth with no real venom behind them. He wondered at the sharp pang that echoed through his chest as he watched Conrad fuss over Luce, re-arranging all the pillows and tucking the blankets more securely around his emaciated form. Luce groused about the treatment, insisting he didn’t need a “fucking nursemaid” but didn’t actually do much to stop the vampire’s ministrations. After so many years spent around the blond, Lamont could tell that Luce was secretly enjoying the attention. That as much as he bitched and moaned, he relished these moments spent being the center of Conrad’s attention in a way he never had with anyone in memory. Lamont watched the exchanges, a coldness creeping through him as he was left, for once, as a bystander instead of participant. He physically flinched when Conrad’s eyes briefly shot his way, hard and unforgiving, before looking back down towards Luce.
“This place is filthy,” the vampire sniffed suddenly.
“No shit,” Luce said grumpily. “Fightin’ off freaks’ll do that.”
“I’m not going to spend the next several hours surrounded by filth,” Conrad said firmly, rising to his feet.
“Seen th’ place lately?” Luce smirked. “Ain’t exactly th’ type a’ livin’ space ta land me in Better Homes n’ Gardens.”
“The fact you even know what that is,” Conrad said archly, looking down at the blond with a superior sneer, “is hysterical in and of itself.”
“Fuck off,” Luce growled. “I’m not th’ one lookin’ ta play maid.”
“Think there’s a mop in the back storeroom,” Lamont said quietly, wishing that the night could just be over already. “Probably some bleach, too.”
“Thank you,” Conrad said stiffly. “I’ll go check.”
“I could help,” the Italian said, moving from the doorway to let Conrad pass, “if you like.”
“Suit yourself,” the vampire replied carelessly, walking by him without so much as a glance. Lamont could practically feel Luce glaring at him. He looked over, meeting the sunken eyes with a desperation. I’m trying, he thought. I’m trying. But how he was going to sort things out when Conrad would barely even talk to him, Lamont had no idea.
By the time daylight arrived, Lamont was slumped exhaustedly against a wall, reeking of bleach. Conrad sat at Luce’s desk in the chair they’d found miraculously intact in the wreckage of the room. Having removed his dress shirt when he began the cleaning, the buzzing, flickering lights of the clinic bounced off the white of the vampire’s undershirt, emphasizing how close in color it was to his pale, dead skin. Neither man spoke, focusing instead on the gasping breaths emanating from the doctor’s twitching form.
Luce had started complaining of feeling dizzy shortly after they’d begun scrubbing the floors, curled in around his stomach and shivering slightly. Their worry had grown when he’d started vomiting, bile mixed with blood spattering on the floor and spilling down his front. Conrad had cradled Luce as the blond shook, holding a cold compress to his increasingly feverish forehead as Lamont cleaned up the sick and swiped at the bloody messes smeared across the floors.
Conrad had joined in the cleaning efforts when Luce finally fell unconscious, abandoning his post at the doctor’s side in favor of making himself useful. Luce’s labored, hitching breathing stayed a constant companion to their feverish efforts as they scrubbed and polished until the clinic shined like it hadn’t in years. Back when Lamont was helping him set the place up and life was uncharted, exciting and new. Now, wrung out from the stress and worry, they both sat listlessly, waiting in silence.
A sharp rapping on the clinic’s door had Lamont springing to his feet. A wave of relief washed over him as he checked his watch.
“About fucking time,” he exclaimed. He turned to face Conrad, meeting the vampire’s tired eyes. “You’ll probably want to stand back,” he said, “I’m gonna be opening the door.”
“What time is it?” he asked tiredly.
“Around seven,” Lamont replied. “Sun’ll be up.” Conrad sighed and rose.
“Let me know when it’s safe to come back,” he said wearily. Lamont nodded in response as the vampire grabbed his shirt from the back of the chair where he‘d hung it, shrugging into it as he trudged toward the back.
Once Conrad was safely out of the room, Lamont rushed over to the door, cracking it open nervously and peering outside as he wished he had a better way of identifying who was on the other side. (Maybe now Luce would finally let him install that peep hole he’d been pestering him about for years now.)
The tall figure in the doorway blocked the pale winter daylight struggling to filter in, a broad shouldered body wrapped in the inky recesses of a thick leather trench coat. Their face was hidden in shadows by a round, wide brimmed hat, leaving them a featureless slash of gloom against the weak, gray morning. A large black medical bag was clenched loosely in a gloved hand at the figure’s side, releasing faint fragrances of arcane herbs and potions far more common in some archaic yesteryear.
Lamont opened the door wide with a smile.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice, Saul,” he said gratefully, stepping aside to allow the figure entrance.
“No need to thank me, Mr. Toucey,” came the smooth, even reply, clipped footsteps echoing through the clinic as Saul marched through the doorway. “My schedule was, fortunately, quite clear.”
Lamont had already schooled his face into its usual mask of pleasantness, contours arranged in what he knew were genial, harmless configurations. He reached out automatically to help Saul with his coat, a heavy affair that covered practically every part of his body. The reason for the coverage was made clear as vibrant crimson skin peeked through where Saul’s long sleeved dress shirt had ridden up, exposing his wrists. Waiting as the demon removed his hat as well, unveiling his short, sharply curing horns, Lamont spared a moment as he hung the articles next to the door to mentally thank Conrad for his insistence over having the coat hooks installed.
“You would have done well to call sooner,” Saul said, solid yellow eyes already studying Luce’s struggling form. “He’s rather far gone.”
“Sorry about that, Saul,” Lamont said, voice smooth and apologetic. “The door was sealed until daylight.”
“That was most foolish,“ the demon said evenly, glowing eyes snapping in Lamont’s direction.
“Wasn’t my decision,” Lamont said, holding his hands out to the sides, fingers splayed.
“Hmm, yes,” Saul intoned stoically. “You do realize this is considerably more work than anticipated. My standard fees will not apply.”
“Thought that might be the case,” Lamont replied. “What are we talking, then? Blood lien? Flesh bond?”
“Life boon,” Saul said firmly. Lamont’s eyes widened slightly as he worked to keep his shock from registering fully on his face.
“That’s pretty steep, Saul,” he said carefully.
“This one is nearly dead,” Saul replied. “It is no easy task you ask of me, Mr. Toucey.”
“So difficult it’s life boon worthy?” Lamont asked skeptically.
“There are those who would ask for more.”
Lamont made a show of considering for several moments. He would agree, of course, no matter how the thought of owing Saul a life boon terrified him. It would never do, though, to let on just how much Luce meant to him. Might encourage the demon to ask for more.
“I suppose it‘s worth the trouble,” he said finally, sighing as if the whole thing was a minor inconvenience instead of holy fucking shit scary as fuck. He extended his hand, cool and sweatless despite his inner turmoil, sealing the deal with a brief, firm handshake.
Negotiations complete, he excused himself, heading back to give Conrad the all clear. He was standing in the kitchen, foot tapping impatiently on the warped linoleum. The sound of Lamont’s heavy footsteps prompted him to whip around, arms crossed over his slim chest.
“Took you long enough,” he snapped. Lamont bristled inwardly, grateful to still be wearing his game face as he faced the peevish vampire. It had been a long night for both of them and the last thing this mess needed was him reacting to Conrad’s poor temper.
“You’re welcome to watch Saul work,” he said evenly, “if you like.”
“God only knows what sort of hack he is,” Conrad mumbled as he pushed past. “I mean, if he’s the only one that’ll work on Worth, he must be an abysmal quack.”
“I’ll make sure to relay how highly you rate his services,” Lamont called after him. He considered calling the vampire back, more adequately preparing him for Saul’s…unusual appearance before shrugging the thought off. To hell with it. Conrad had been miserable company all night long. Would serve him right if he ended up sticking his foot in his mouth. (Or if Saul decided to lodge it there for him.) Smile taking on a slightly malicious tinge, he sauntered into the clinic just in time to watch Conrad shrieking as Saul turned to face him.
“What are-” he spluttered, “you, fuck-”
“I‘d be most appreciative,” Saul said in his expressionless voice, “if you refrained from such vulgar language in my presence.”
“What the fuck are you?!” Conrad exclaimed, pointing a shaking finger towards the demon. Saul blinked slowly, smooth red face as stoic as ever as he looked in Lamont’s direction.
“Mr. Toucey,” he said coolly, “would you kindly restrain your associate?”
“Saul’s a demon, Conrad,” Lamont said, having to work more than just a little to keep from sounding smug. “Best in the biz if you’re in need of serious healing.”
“That makes no sense!” Conrad snapped, striding angrily to where the doctor lay, glaring down at the demon. “Aren’t demons all, you know, evil?”
“Do I look evil to you?” Saul said, expression edging toward insulted.
“Yes!” Conrad shrieked. “I mean, you’ve got the horns, the fucking-”
“Language!” Saul said forcefully.
“-eyes,” Conrad continued, undeterred. “For God’s sake, you’re as red as, as-”
“As blood?” Saul asked, pinning the vampire with glowing, yellow eyes. “Was that the word you were looking for, life drinker?” Conrad ground to a halt, guilt immediately flooding his face as he realized what he’d been saying.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m, so sorry. I- it’s been a long night…”
“Hmph,” Saul sniffed. “Clearly.”
“Really long night,” he said softly, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the faded tiles of the clinic floor he’d just spent hours scrubbing.
“Why don’t you sit down, Conrad?” Lamont interjected, giving the vampire an out. “Give Saul some space to work?” He was torn between the urge to laugh gleefully at the dejected slump of Conrad’s shoulders or go over and try and comfort the poor guy. Was comical, really, how easily his temper put him in these situations. He watched as the vampire slouched his way over to the chair, slumping into it again as he rested his elbows against the desk.
Turning his attention back to his patient, Saul reached into his open bag, withdrawing several glass bottles, a candle, some chalk and various dried plants that Lamont couldn’t even begin to identify. Arranging the articles carefully to the side, he began carefully removing the nest of pillows and blankets that had been arranged around the blond’s emaciated form. Once he’d cleared the area of all items, he extracted his hands from their leather encasements, revealing black-taloned claws that he moved to hover inches above Luce’s heaving chest.
“I sense a great deal of internal damage,” Saul said as the yellow bled from his eyes, leaving them an unfathomable, lightless black. “Massive bleeding, kidney failure, laceration of the liver, several broken bones.” The black receded from his eyes as he turned to look toward Lamont. “I cannot heal all his injuries,” he said dispassionately, “but his life will be spared.”
“Just do what you can,” Lamont said softly.
“Of course,” Saul replied stiffly as he leaned toward candle, shooting a small, sputtering flame out the tip of one of one claw to light its untouched wick. Ignoring Conrad’s gasp at the small display of magic, he reached for the chalk he’d set aside, color bleeding once more from his eyes. The two men watched intently as the demon traced intricate patterns around the blond’s body, arcane symbols woven together across the cracking tiles. Once done, he carefully undid the buttons of the doctor’s shirt, using a sharply curving talon to slice through the undershirt beneath, exposing Luce’s pale, distended belly.
A quiet murmur fell from ruby lips as Saul continued with the ritual. Crushing the dried plants in his hands, his chanting rose and fell as he scattered them inside his chalked out circle. Voice sonorous and strong, he wove his spell around the doctor, magic deep enough to send out shivering tendrils of power to dance lightly against the observers’ twitching skin.
The chalk lines began to glow as magic filled the room, bathing everything in pulsing, orange light. Lamont held in a gasp as he felt the sucking pull of the spell surrounding him, drawing all the energy from the air around him, dimming the room’s lights until the only illumination came from the crackling of the circle’s power.
It almost didn’t register when Conrad’s cold hand grasped onto his sweat slicked palm, anger and resentment set aside when faced with this strange sight. Saul’s voice rose and fell, weaving all the dancing light around him like a glowing shroud. It pulsed brightest at his temples, wreathing ‘round his head like some holy circlet.
“Oborior!” Saul cried suddenly, raising his hands above his head. “Oborior!” he repeated, then shoved his clawed hands deep into the flesh of Luce’s gut.
Luce screamed, eyes flying open as his back arched, hands scrabbling at the floor. Lamont held tight to Conrad’s hand as the vampire surged forward, screaming Luce’s name as the demon rocked back and forth, chanting ringing out as the light flashed blindingly around his kneeling form. Drawing Conrad near, Lamont held him tight, placing his lips desperately against his ear.
“Don’t look!” he screamed over the noise, closing his own eyes tightly against the grisly sight. “Just don’t look!”
A booming clap shook the room, plunging everything into sudden darkness. Lamont stood, skin still shivering as the last of the magic crackled over him. The familiar feeling of Conrad’s slender form, still clasped against his chest, helped steady him as the lights slowly began flickering back on.
In the sudden, ringing silence Conrad shoved him off, racing to the doctor’s side in a panic, heedless of the panting, red-skinned form beside him. “WORTH!” he cried, clasping the man’s gaunt face in shaking hands. The vampire’s eyes flew frantically over the scarred frame beneath him, widening in surprise when he noticed the concave yet intact flesh of the doctor’s heaving stomach. “Say something!”
“Fuckin‘ hell,” a familiar, accented voice drifted out shakily, “mind th’ merchandise, puppy.”
“Thank God,” Conrad gasped, collapsing onto Luce’s thin chest in relief.
“It is finished,” Saul rasped, rising haltingly to his feet. “I have done all I can do.”
“And I thank you,” Lamont said, walking over quickly and clapping a hand on the demon’s shoulder. “I am in your debt, my friend.”
“We are both aware of exactly what is owed me, Mr. Toucey,” Saul said stiffly, extracting a handkerchief from his pants pocket to dab at his sweat drenched brow. “And believe me, I am not one to leave a debt uncollected.”
“Of course,” Lamont said evenly, tamping down the twist of fear inside him. “I would expect nothing less.” He walked back toward the clinic’s entrance, gathering the demon’s outer garments as Saul began collecting his materials. He spared a moment to shoot Conrad an irritated glance when the vampire refused to move, forcing the demon to maneuver around his sprawling limbs to retrieve the last of his items.
“Thank you again,” Lamont said warmly, handing Saul his hat and coat and walking him to the door.
“The man will still need fluids,” Saul intoned, eyes flicking over toward where Conrad was helping Luce stand, steadying the blond as he moved him toward the clinic’s back rooms. “An analgesic for his cracked ribs and the bruising to his kidneys.”
“I’ll make sure he gets it,” Lamont said smoothly.
“Indeed,” Saul said, placing his hat upon his head. “Then I bid you good day, Mr. Toucey.” A faint smile touched the demon’s solemn face, dark glint dancing in his yellow eyes. “You’ll be hearing from me.” He leaned forward, lips parting just enough to give Lamont a glimpse of the dagger shaped teeth behind them. “Soon.”
Lamont was helpless to stop the nervous chuckle that started spilling out as he watched Saul draw back, smile still painting his face as he opened the clinic doors. It was quickly erased, though, by the ginger-topped form that slammed through the doorway, nearly bowling him over.
“Ohmygod I’m so sorry I totally didn’t see you there!” an excited voice immediately began to babble. “Are you alright? Did I- say are you a demon? Oh man that is so cool I‘ve always wanted to see one for myself hey Worth, since when did you start treating-”
“Why,” hissed Saul, “are you still standing in my way?”
“Hanna,” the quiet voice of the excitable redhead’s tall, green-tinged companion interjected. “Perhaps you should let the man through.”
“Oh sorry,” Hanna said, smiling sheepishly. “Guess you probably have someplace you’re trying to get to, huh? Well don’t let me stop you! Demons first!” Flashing a brilliant grin, he swept his arms out grandly as he stepped to the side, indicating the now cleared path the demon was now welcome to take. Grumbling as he went, Saul stalked off, grumpier than Lamont remembered ever having seen him. Wide eyes of electric blue also followed the demon’s progress before snapping back to stare up at the exhausted face in front of him.
“Hi Lamont,” Hanna chirped, “how’s it going?”
Characters: Lamont/Conrad/Worth, Patrizio (in passing), a tall, dark stranger with a medical bag (another OC) and another surprise towards the end.
Rating: PG-13 for language, mild violence and implied shenanigans. (Eventual NC-17)
Synopsis: What kinds of trouble can kids get into with a bike, a car and an earful of Motorhead? Then, cursing, cleaning and a strange, unsettling light show.
Author's notes: This is as much as I've got so far. Next update will be when my schedule allows!
Pushing his thick legs steadily on the pedals of his pock-marked bike, Lamont powered through endless tracts of gleaming suburban sprawl toward his destination. He tried not to let it show, the embarrassment he felt at the scuffed, rattling hand-me-down he was riding, for there was nothing to be done about it. At fifteen, his transportation options still remained bike or the trials of public transit. When taking into account the possibly delicate contents of the parcel he was entrusted with, the decision had been easy to make. So, pride firmly swallowed, he propelled himself onward, clunking his way past the viridian squares framing each picture perfect house, immaculately manicured and maintained, held in check by trim white fences and carefully crafted walls of vegetation. They almost seemed to be watching him, marking his progress, whispering in silent solidarity a solemn mantra of, “don’t belong…don’t belong…don‘t belong…”
He couldn’t help but feel they might be right.
If he thought about it, though, this humiliating excursion was a small price to pay, even when taking his mortification into account. In his time spent with Uncle Pat -over a year now- he’d learned quickly just how intolerant of failure the man was. The vitriolic nature of his temper would cut deep and quick; words spilling out amongst flecks of spittle to remove with near surgical precision the bits of self respect you fought to keep hidden from his trenchant, watery eyes. Any shame he felt over the blatant mark of poverty he currently sat astride was nothing when compared with that. The mere thought of it had him peddling faster, eager to finish his delivery and please his difficult familial employer.
The bike creaked in protest, corroded surfaces shuddering under his exertions. Trying not to think on the worrisome vibrations trembling along its rusted frame, Lamont instead let his thoughts wander toward the nature of his latest dispatch.
Patrizio had been insistent that Lamont not be told what, exactly, he currently had strapped to his back. The contents of his delivery were obfuscated by soft, voluminous layers of purple cloth, shielded from his prying eyes, and no amount of cajoling or wheedling on the part of his nephew had produced any answers.
“C’mon, Uncle Pat,” he’d coaxed, “what‘s there to hide? It’s not like I haven’t helped you move creepy stuff before. Like remember that head? That kept blinking at me and trying to talk? I helped you just fine with that one, didn’t I?”
The response he’d gotten was a sharp cuff to the back of his head and an order to shut his “smart-ass mouth.”
“Don’t need ta tell you shit, Monty,” Patrizio had wheezed, sagging jowls practically vibrating with his irritation. “When I want ya to know about somethin’, I’ll tell ya.” He’d stood firm, too, unmoved by Lamont’s continuing, inquisitive pleas.
Lamont frowned, irritation spiking through him once again at the perceived slight. What, did Uncle Pat still think he was some dumb kid? That he’d run crying home to Ma ‘cause Monty-kins was scared of the monsters lurking in the shadows? And there were monsters, Lamont knew that now. Had even seen a handful of them, glimpses he’d caught when he’d snuck into the shop’s back room after Patrizio thought he’d left for the day. He’d watched with fascinated horror as the rotund, quivering form of his uncle had dealings with all manner of devils. Some with claws, some with fur, some with blood-red eyes that Lamont just knew were aware of his presence.
In all those times, though, despite most likely being keen to the raven headed voyeur hidden amongst the clutter of crates and boxes, they never called him out. It left Lamont feeling an odd sense of kinship with the fiends. They could easily have brought him to his uncle’s notice, yet they had all chosen to keep his presence unrevealed. Creatures that didn’t know him. Monsters that owed him nothing. Puzzling actions that further sparked his burning curiosity.
Lamont pedaled leisurely, eyes paying only scant attention to the road as his thoughts meandered through his memories. So intent was he on his reminisces that he didn’t notice the soft purr of the engine until it was almost on him, snapping back to the present with barely enough time to swerve out of the car’s speeding path.
He jerked to the side, front wheel bumping against the curb. Letting out a long string of creative swears, he struggled to overcome his shock and wrestle the bike back under his control as it jarred between his legs and threatened to topple. Only after he’d regained his balance and brought himself to a complete stop did he notice the car had paused also, engine still thrumming eagerly inside the glistening red contours of its glinting frame.
“Hey asshole!” Lamont finally screamed, face red with fury. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, huh? You coulda killed me, there!”
“Yeah, an’ I’d prolly get a medal for doin’ it, riddin’ the world of a bloody awful fuck-up like you,” came the drawled response, familiar accented voice trickling out through an open window.
Alarm spiking through him, Lamont dismounted, leaning his bike against a tree before hurrying over to peer into the car. He was met with the smirking face of the young man most likely to be named juvenile delinquent of the decade. His long fingers tapped idly at the car‘s steering wheel, eyes sparkling mischievously beneath a thatch of messy blond hair. His neighbor-by-way-of-back-fence and habitual partner in crime: Luce Worth.
“Arvo Mont, how ya goin‘?”
“Luce,” Lamont said slowly, carefully, not wanting to sound in any way encouraging. “What are you doing?”
“Whassit look like, ya stupid fuck?” Luce replied, adjusting the ratty fur collar on the battered aviator jacket he’d taken to wearing lately. “‘M drivin’.”
“Yeah, you and what license?” Lamont said peevishly. He hated when Luce called him stupid. “You don’t even have your permit yet.”
“An’ why should I bother with one?” Luce snapped. “I drive jus’ fine.”
“Fine enough to almost run me over?” Lamont grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring.
“Wot, that?” Luce sniffed, grin never leaving his face. “Completely not my fault. I mean, when there’s somethin’ as big as yer fat ass, ‘s pract‘ly ‘mpossible ta get ‘round!”
Lamont sighed, rolling his eyes as he started walking back toward his bike. Fat jokes? Really? How original.
“Bikes have the right of way, you know,” he grumbled, mostly to himself, not wanting Luce to know he was getting to him. Just because they were friends (mostly), that didn’t mean it was ever smart to show any signs of weakness around the blond. All that ever seemed to do was encourage him to new heights of awfulness.
“Can’t blame me fer this one, Mont!” Luce called after him, cringe-worthy vocabulary ringing cheerily across the neighborhood. “Yer grav’tational pull, sucked me right in!”
“You’re such an asshole, Luce!” Lamont yelled over his shoulder. Crazy Aussie bastard. Whatever stupid stunt Luce was pulling, he didn’t have time for it right now. Lamont had a job to do. Yanking his bike toward him, he quickly remounted, pointedly refusing to look in the car’s direction before he started furiously pedaling away.
Luce, of course, followed.
“’Ey,” he called out the window, matching Lamont’s speed, bringing the car up beside him. “Th’ fuck ‘er ya doin’?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Lamont wheezed, somewhat breathless with how forcefully he was exerting himself.
“Like ye’r bein’ a complete whacker, tha’s what,” Luce sharp voice bit out, clearly irritated he wasn’t getting the response he wanted. “C’mon, get th’ fuck in.”
“I’m busy,” Lamont growled in frustration, “Whatever stupid thing you’ve got planned, I don’t have time for it right now.”
“Well how d’ya like that?” Luce groused. “After all th’ trouble I went to gettin’ us this car.”
“Stealing you mean,” Lamont shot back.
“Borrowin’,” was the growled response. “’S my dad’s so i’s not like I’m fer real takin’ it. Now stop ped’lin’ tha’ stupid thing an’ get th’ fuck in here!”
Lamont braked suddenly, planting his feet on either side of the bike as he crossed his arms, glowering at the blond. Luce responded by bringing the car to a screeching halt, glaring back. The two boys sat scowling, neither wanting to be the first to cave. Young male pride forcing them to remain locked in an interminable battle of wills. The minutes ticked by, accented by the persistent, powerful thrum of the engine. Soft sounds spilled out from the perfect homes surrounding them, the innocuous buzz of meticulously choreographed lives washing over their impromptu standoff.
It was Lamont who broke first (Lamont always broke first), unable to stop the nervous trickle of laughter beginning to shake his broad frame. Luce leered triumphantly, knowing what the laugh signaled. He tilted his head cockily, eyes flashing at his snickering companion, savoring his victory.
“Get in th’ fuckin’ car, Mont,” he grinned, leaning over to pop the passenger door open.
“What about my bike?” Lamont asked stubbornly, still not entirely ready to concede. The car was a small, sporty affair. Most definitely meant for shuttling people around in style, not hauling rusty cycles to and fro.
“What about yer bike?” Luce shot back. “What, ya think someone’s gonna take it? Have ya looked where yer ridin’?”
“I really need to make this delivery,” Lamont said, though he’d already propped the bike against a nearby tree and edged closer, finally letting himself admire the sleek lines of the car. It was gorgeous: glossy, cherry red exterior flowing gracefully around the cream-colored leather interior. It vibrated gently, as if it could barely stand being kept in one spot for so long.
“I’ll drive ya there,” Luce said, patting the passenger seat coaxingly. “C‘mon mate, whattaya got ta lose?” Lamont stood next to the vehicle, considering. Reaching out tentatively, he ran his hand along the sparkling doorframe, caressing the mobile symbol of wealth.
It struck him again just how unfair it was that someone like Luce, someone so purposefully awful, was the one with the access to such serious wealth. If he’d even so much as dreamed of taking off with a car half as nice, he’d be carted off before the key even hit the ignition. He studied his friend; his eager expression, the ill fitting clothes he’d probably nicked from the Goodwill (’cause God knows Belinda would never allow her son to wear them) hanging off the gangly body he still hadn’t managed to grow into, looking for all the world like a demented, leather-clad hobo. Looked and wondered, once more, why life seemed so stacked against him.
Suddenly ashamed for the uncharitable thoughts (it wasn’t Luce’s fault, anyways, that Lamont’s family wasn’t as well off), he nodded to himself. Well, if Luce had gone to the trouble of stealing a car, accepting his offer was, of course, the polite thing to do…
The blond practically crowed as he saw Lamont slinging his delivery from his back, cradling it gently as he eased his way in. He sat gingerly, sliding into the soft, luxurious contours of the seat. Luce graced Lamont with a gleeful smirk as he swung the door shut.
“Tha’s more like it,” he chortled, practically bouncing in his seat with impish glee. “So, where we goin’ then?”
“House is at Deward and Filch,” Lamont said, waving in the direction he’d been pedaling.
“Christ Mont, you were gonna bike yer way there?” Luce asked, eyebrow quirking upward as he glanced at his friend.
“Not that far,” Lamont shrugged, re-adjusting the parcel in his lap.
“Think ‘far‘ must mean somethin‘ diff’rent ta you, then,” Luce said, turning his eyes toward the road. “Any rate, le’s see how fast I can get this thing to go!”
Lamont couldn’t help but wince as he heard Luce grinding his way through the gears, lurching the car forward as the engine groaned in protest. “Sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked, gripping the armrest as the car shuddered and nearly died.
“Got myself here, didn’ I?” Luce muttered, face twisted in concentration. “Fuckin’, just, there we go!” He grinned defiantly, finally having gotten the car into third, engine purring happily once more as they shot forward.
Watching the quiet neighborhood screaming past his window, Lamont couldn’t help the laughter starting to eke its way from his throat. His body was tingling fiercely with the sharp acceleration, thrilling up his spine as his heart rate climbed. Luce looked over, eyes flashing wildly, face still split with his monstrous, crooked grin.
“Ace, yeah?” he said gleefully, eyes snapping back just in time to avoid hitting a car trying to putt its way through the intersection they were crossing.
“It’s a Porsche, right?” Lamont snickered, laughter climbing up an octave as he clung to the armrest. Jesus, shouldn’t Luce be paying more attention to the road?
“911 turbo,” the blond said blithely. “Or, as I like ta call it, the Lucivious Worth Midlife-Crisis-Mobile.” He took a sudden sharp turn, slamming Lamont into his door, cackling at the resulting string of curses. “Old bastard jus’ got it this mornin’, figured I’d help break it in for ’im.”
“How nice of you,” Lamont said, gripping his fist tighter, knuckles starting to whiten. He was pretty positive he’d felt two of the car’s wheels leaving the ground as they rounded that last bend. Luce merely sneered, rolled his window down (which made Lamont snicker even louder, shouldn’t he be keeping both hands on the wheel at this speed?), laughing again as wind began buffeting over them.
“We need some tunes!” Luce declared loudly. “Reach in my pocket, eh Mont? I brought some wiv’ me.”
“It’s not more of that stupid metal stuff, is it?” Lamont shouted, voice almost lost in the sound of rushing air.
“Ey, fuck you, nothin’ wrong with metal!” Luce bellowed with a scowl. “’Sides, it’s Motorhead. I fuckin’ defy you to even try an’ not like ‘em!”
“It all sucks,” Lamont said stubbornly, even as he fished the cassette out of Luce’s coat. “All of it.” Luce merely replied by flipping him off, snatching the tape from his hand and shoving it in the tape deck. Lamont winced as the sound of loud, noxious guitars immediately stabbed at his ears, overpowering even the sound of the rushing wind. An angry, growling voice soon followed, aggressively fighting against the growing cacophony of wailing, slamming instruments. Luce grinned, reveling in Lamont’s discomfort before starting to holler along, voice off-key and cracking.
“Home cookin‘, homo-cide! Side order, could be yer daughter! Finger lickin’ good! Oooooooo c’mon baby, eat the rich! Put the bite onna sonuva bitch!”
Lamont leaned over, yelling to be heard over the din. “Fucking stupid, Luce!”
“C’mon baby,” Luce warbled, louder than before, “eat the riiiiiiiich!”
It was luck pure and simple that put Luce in a charitable enough mood to lower the volume as they reached their destination. He forced the car into neutral with minimal grinding, leaving the motor idling as he finally took notice of their purple-clad cargo.
“What issit this time?” he asked, mild curiosity coloring his acne dotted face.
“Dunno,” Lamont replied, “Pat wouldn’t let me see.”
“And?” came the pointed response. “What’s stoppin’ yeh now, ya nong?”
“Hey, shuddap,” Lamont snapped back. “Could be hexed or something.”
“Yer face is fuckin’ hexed. Seriously Mont,” Luce sneered as he reached nimble fingers toward the parcel, “yeh worry too much.” Lamont snatched it away, shielding it behind his broad frame.
“Look,” he exclaimed, anxiety spiking as Luce tried to reach around him, “you don’t know my uncle. He’d have zero problems, none, with, like, cursing me or something. You do not fuck with his stuff, Luce. Man is not nice.”
“Hey, whaddaya know,” Luce drawled, “neither am I!” He chuckled as he leaned in closer, long arms snaking around his dark haired friend as he tried again to snag the velvet swaddled bundle. “So much we got in common!”
“I’m serious Luce, back off!” Lamont slapped at the blond’s shoulder.
“C’mon mate,” Luce wheedled, undeterred by Lamont’s growing anger. “S’only fair, seein’ how I drove it ‘ere an’ everythin‘.”
“Fuck you, man!” Lamont snarled as he landed the day’s first punch.
The car rocked to and fro with the resulting scuffle, a chorus of curses and smacks ringing out through the open windows.
“Give it ‘ere!”
“Not on your life, you fucking-”
“’Ey tha’s my ear ya bloody-”
All struggles ceased as the cover, jostled during the argument, fell back. A shimmering, violet light flooded out into the car, emanating from the smooth, round sphere the parted cloth revealed. What lay inside the globe, though, was what stole their breaths and stilled their flailing limbs. Flitting to and fro frantically, buzzing on translucent wings, fists beating against the glass, was a tiny woman.
A fairy.
The two boys stared, cradling the ball between them as the colored light washed across their stunned faces. Whatever material the sphere was made of must have been designed to dampen sound, because the two were unable to hear any of the diminutive being’s struggles. They could see her lips moving, though, clearly pleading with them to free her.
“Mont,” Luce finally said, eyes still on the sight between them. “Mate, wha’ do we-”
“We?” Lamont asked quietly, barely a whisper. “We?” he choked. “WE Luce?” he screamed, eyes blazing as they flew up towards the dumbstruck blond. “There is no fucking we in this!” he screeched, eyes wild and desperate. “There is me! Doing my fucking job! I told you not to mess with it!”
“Lamont,” Luce said softly, face still blank with shock, “you can’t seriously mean-”
“You don’t know what it’s fucking like, Luce!” Lamont railed, face turning an ugly, blotchy red, breath panting out like he was at a dead run. “You have no idea how fucking hard it is!” He yanked the sphere from Luce’s bony fingers, cradling it to his chest as he turned to stare sightlessly through the windshield.
Why hadn’t Luce just left it alone? He could have done forever without knowing. Even finding out after, he could have done that. Explained it away, figured out some way to excuse himself from handing the creature over. He did know, though, there was no undoing the fact he‘d seen it. That he’d have to do this knowingly. He knew and even if he wasn’t looking, it was as if he could feel it buzzing inside the ball, like he was holding a trapped insect that was battering against the sides of a glass jar. He’d been so happy earlier, imagining all the different places his new exciting life could take him. So happy…
“There’s nothing I can do,” he said after a long moment. “I just, this is all I’ve got, Luce.” He refused to look at his friend, head bowed, eyes cinched shut. “I’m not…I… there’s nothing…” His voice trailed off as it started to crack. He could feel the other boy staring at him, deep set eyes drilling into the side of his face. He was dimly aware that he was giggling again, a stupid, nervous habit he’d had ever since he could remember. All his plans, the dreams of freedom and escape, quivered in his chest, fluttering wings brushing against a rib cage that felt so cracked and fragile he could practically feel it starting to cave. His hands stuttered along the sphere’s sides, streaks of sweat painting its smooth curves where he touched.
The pressure of Luce’s hand falling on his shoulder steadied his fraying thoughts. No words were spoken, but he could feel his friend’s sympathy, his understanding at what Lamont was about to do, broadcast through the simple human contact. It was how it always was between the two of them, more said in touch than could ever be expressed in clumsy words. Heaving a deep sigh that shook his very foundations, Lamont glanced over at his companion.
“I’ll wait for ya,” Luce said finally, giving his shoulder a squeeze before turning to face front. Lamont smiled weakly, fumbling clumsily to rewrap the sphere, doing his best to ignore the increasing frenzy of its occupant. Once it was covered, he glanced once more in Luce’s direction, eyes mutely broadcasting his thanks as he exited the vehicle.
The exchange itself was a brief affair. A stiff hand off to the suit-clad servant who answered the door. His stiffly starched shirt practically crinkled as he leaned down to extract the parcel from Lamont’s trembling hands.
“My master will send payment shortly,” the servant hissed, flashing a mouthful of needle sharp teeth at Lamont in what was probably meant as a smile. Fighting not to flinch, he smiled back weakly, nodding his agreement and murmuring his farewells as he backed away from the door. He hurried back to the car, struck by how its cheery rumbling and sleek lines now seemed garish instead of gorgeous. Too bright and lovely a thing in the face of what had just transpired.
He was returned to his bike in silence, neither boy feeling the need to talk about the incident. It was as he’d left it, propped listlessly against the large tree, as run-down and rusted as ever.
Sighing as he exited the car, he walked toward it with a heavy heart, hating the thought of how much pedaling was ahead of him before he was back home. To hell with the tongue lashing he’d get later for not going back to the shop. He couldn’t go back today, not after that. Besides, it would give him more time to come up with a story to explain his shell-shocked face. Because Lamont was a very creative, conniving boy. It’s what made him so useful. Made Patrizio keep him around. Gave him the opportunity to continue helping his uncle with his business.
“Thanks for driving,” he said, looking back toward his friend as he slung a leg up over the seat.
“I’ll call yeh when Dad’s done bein’ pissed,” Luce said, half-hearted smirk playing across his lips.
“Think he’s called the cops on you?” Lamont asked, bracing his foot against a pedal.
“Pfeh,” Luce scoffed, “think he’d be too embarrassed having t’explain his only son’s a car-stealing git.”
“Heh,” Lamont couldn’t help but chuckle. “Prob’ly.”
“See ya, Mont.” Luce’s hand lifted in a careless farewell before drifting back toward the gear shift. He paused, looked back up as if to add something more, then shrugged instead. Lamont could feel the slight smile that crept to his face as he heard Luce once again abusing his way through the car’s gears, lurching the vehicle forward before finally reaching a maintainable speed.
He watched until the car was nothing more than a crimson speck on the horizon before pushing off the sidewalk. Pedaling steadily, repetitive motion working to send his mind drifting into a numbing lull, he floated past the rows of perfect houses. Forcing it all deep down, mask in place, he held his threadbare dreams in a head scraped clean, longing for things that could not be.
~.~.~
Pausing as he finished helping Luce settle into a more comfortable jumble of pointy, dread angles, Lamont worriedly eyed the yellow pallor his friend’s face was taking on. He’d already set in motion all that could be done in the scant hours left before daylight, but they’d be useless if the man died before they could actually be achieved. Noticing the hesitation, Luce cracked a lid open to peer up at him, eyes bloodshot and tired.
“Quit it,” he snapped, scowling at whatever expression he saw stamped on Lamont’s face.
“Oh sorry,” Lamont said acidly, making a few, final adjustments to the pillows and blankets he’d arranged around the doctor. “I keep forgetting how difficult it must be to have me worrying about you.”
“Not like there’s anythin’ yeh could do ta make it better,” Luce said tiredly. “’M as comft’able as I’m gonna get, an’ we’re sealed in ‘til mornin’.” He let his eye fall shut again, melting exhaustedly into his nest of coverings. Lamont eyed the several blotchy, crimson patches that were already showing on the bandages he’d wrapped around Luce’s head, fingers itching for something to do.
“You sure you don’t have a counter spell around here somewhere?” he asked hopefully. “Maybe a lock picking rune? Anything?”
“Idiot,” Luce grumbled crossly. “One, no I don’. Two, rune crossin’s a fuckin’ terrible idea. S’pecially when they’re all comin’ from th‘ bloody ginger freak. An’ three, safer this way. Means Abby has to stay th’ fuck outside.”
Lamont rose to his feet, starting to pace restlessly around the blood spattered clinic. “But if you’re looking this bad now-” he began, running a hand through his unruly hair.
“Oi,” Luce growled, eyes drifting open to pin his friend with a glare, “didn’ yeh hear me? Nothin’ ta be done. S’fuckin’ get over it.” He closed his eyes again, grumbling under his breath as he shifted around, trying to find a position that didn’t result in sharp, stabbing pain.
The crabby, broken blond was right, Lamont knew that, but he still couldn’t shake his overwhelming urge to do something. Some sort of thing that involved more than waiting around hoping Luce would live until morning. His pacing stopped, though, when a sudden thought hit him.
“Shit, Conrad’s still in the back!” He whirled toward the door, hurrying forward several steps then stopping, not sure what his next move should be.
“Nicely done, Mont,” Luce drawled, voice still managing to drip condescension despite his sorry state. “Bet tha’s really helpin’ smooth things over with th‘ fag.”
“Shut up,” Lamont barked, turning back to glare at his friend. “I was busy.”
“Busy bein’ a complete failure,” Luce said, cracking an eye open and shooting him a wavering grin. “As usual.”
“Should prob’ly feed him,” Lamont mused, choosing to ignore Luce’s jibes. “Did you use up all those blood bags I brought?”
“Sorry Mont, couldn’t say,” the blond sneered, “was too busy fightin’ fer my life ta take an inventory for ya.”
“Oh for Chrissakes,” Lamont exclaimed, stress and the late hour finally working his last nerve. Rolling his eyes as he headed over to the fridge where Luce kept his supply, he knelt before it, peering into its recesses. “Next time don’t fucking bother playing hero,” he snapped at the doctor’s prone form. “Not if you’re gonna bitch at me afterwards like a fuckin’ frigid ass housewife.”
“The fuck d’you get off callin’ me a housewife,” Luce spat viciously as Lamont began rummaging around the stained, sticky shelves, “ya fuckin’ fat-ass, limp-dick excuse of a-”
“Found them,” Lamont grated, holding up a crumpled bag of B negative in a hair-covered hand.
“-useless bloody-” Luce was still snarling, working up a good head of steam now as he struggled to sit upright, “tha’ was dropped as a fuckin’ baby when the fuckin’ nurse saw yer warped tiny-”
Lamont growled as he rose, waving a hand dismissively in Luce’s direction as he clomped off toward the kitchen.
“You know,” he called over his shoulder, “I don’t even care anymore if you make it til morning.”
“-whose mother was nothin’ more ‘n a-”
“Rot in hell Luce!” Lamont bellowed, yanking open a cupboard door with such force he nearly tore it off its rickety hinges. He muttered furiously under his breath as he tried to block out the continuing stream of insults. Face twisted downward in a scowl, he started rifling through the shelves. It wasn’t that he really wanted Luce dead, it was just that sometimes (like, say, right now for example), he couldn’t help fantasizing about the asshole just rolling over and dying. A cessation of life so he could stop making everyone, Lamont in particular, so goddamn miserable. Still grumbling, he snatched out what was now known as “Connie‘s Mug” from the topmost shelf.
He wasn’t sure where the doctor had found it; a large, white thing with the words “I AM SO GAY” emblazoned across the front. It had been Conrad’s birthday present and had resulted in a full week of no vampiric presence in the doctor’s foul clinic. (Luce had maintained it was still worth it, if only for the look on the princess’s face when he unwrapped it.) Lamont had lost count of how many times it had been fished from the trash, saved from destruction and placed back in the cupboard. Luce had even gone so far as to throw out the rest of his mismatched collection of mugs, ensuring the only option available to hold the beverages of his fussy guest remained this single, hideous atrocity. The day Conrad had emerged from the kitchen clenching it in his hand without comment was the day Lamont knew Luce had won that particular battle.
Slamming the mug down on the kitchen counter, he emptied the bag’s contents into its spotless contours before popping it into the ancient, filth speckled microwave. He drew in a deep breath as he scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration, trying to force his anger out as he exhaled. He was just grumpy, he knew that. And worried. Scared for Luce like he hadn’t been for years. Sure he’d seen the asshole through some pretty nasty scrapes, but this one was really… well. Guess he should be grateful the fucker was yelling at him like he was. He couldn’t imagine a dying man having the energy to spend on cussing at him like that. (Though God knows Luce always managed to be an exception to just about every rule.)
Jolted from his thoughts by the microwave’s ping, he pulled out the warmed mug, taking the time to find a spoon and stir its quickly coagulating contents to ensure the heat was distributed evenly. Then, squaring his shoulders, he tread slowly toward the living area of Luce’s clinic, sluggish mind trying desperately to wake enough to properly deal with the potentially surely bloodsucker.
He found Conrad in the bedroom, sitting on the dingy mattress, engrossed in his work. He had a sketchpad sitting on his lap, held his place with a pale, slender hand. Staring intently, his pencil was sliding deftly across the paper’s smooth surface, movements swift and sure as he left his marks across the page. Lamont could see that his earbuds were in, cord leading to his iPhone lying next to him on the mattress. He clomped slowly into the room, making sure his footsteps were heavy, sending slight vibrations into the mattress that caused the vampire’s sharp, red eyes to glance up from the page.
“Heh, hey,” Lamont said, smiling nervously as he extended the mug. “I brought you dinner.”
“Thank you,” Conrad murmured, removing the earbuds and extracting the mug from Lamont’s grasp. He wrapped his hands around it as he drank eagerly, trying no doubt to warm his bloodless flesh.
Lamont raised a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing awkwardly as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He had no idea how to start this conversation. He’d been so intent on making sure Luce was alright that he hadn’t really formulated a plan of attack when it came to Conrad.
“Conrad,” he cleared his throat when his voice emerged as nothing more than a croak, fighting tooth and nail against the laughter bubbling in his throat. “Conrad, I-”
“How’s Worth?” the vampire interrupted, worry clearly visible in the tense line of his shoulders.
“Resting,” Lamont said, relief filtering through him as he latched onto the subject. Of course Conrad would want to know about Luce before talking about, other things. “Won’t lie, he’s in pretty bad shape, but I have someone coming soon as morning hits to take a look at him.”
“Why morning?” Conrad asked, clenching his fingers more tightly around the mug. “Can’t you get someone any sooner?”
“I could,” Lamont said, not bothering to fight the irritation coloring his tone, “but Worth sealed the door shut.”
“Huh?” Conrad asked in puzzlement, “sealed how?”
“Runes,” Lamont replied with a sigh. “Did it when I wasn’t looking.” He let his hand drop, looking to the side as he asked the question obviously forming on the vampire’s lips. “No, there’s nothing we can do to remove it, Worth said we’ll just have to wait.”
“Can Worth afford to wait?” Conrad asked quietly, eyes boring into Lamont, searching his face.
“Guess he’ll have to,” Lamont said softly. “Nothing else we can do.”
Conrad looked down pensively into his mug, fingers drumming along its sides. Lamont continued standing, unsure of what else to say.
“Conrad,” he began again.
“I’m going to see how Worth’s doing,” Conrad said abruptly. “Should be fine, now that I’ve eaten.”
“O- oh,” Lamont said, floundering, “okay, he’s uh, he’s still out front.” The vampire rose stiffly, gliding towards the door. On impulse, Lamont’s hand shot out, grabbing Conrad’s slender arm as he passed by. “Conrad,” he said, pleading, “I know…” he trailed off, releasing his hold when Conrad glared down where he’d gripped the vampire’s bloodstained shirt. “Look,” he said, deciding it best to just get the words out. “I know now isn’t the best…the time, and all, but we’ll talk. After. I swear.”
“Talk?” Conrad asked softly, head turning slowly to look back at the dark haired man behind him, face cool and impassive. “You think we have something to talk about?”
He could feel his mouth opening and closing, probably making him look just as lost and foolish as he felt.
“Lamont?”
“Um,” he struggled to talk around the choking sensation gripping his throat. “Um, we uh, I just thought… no?”
The sinking sensation he felt as Conrad turned his back without a word and strode from the room was unexpected. This was what he’d wanted after all, wasn’t it? Conrad not yelling? Being reasonable, sort of?
His eyes had been so cold. Like Lamont was nothing to him. Nothing at all.
Shaking himself from his stupor, Lamont plodded from the room, dragging himself back toward the clinic’s front room. He watched from the doorway, leaning tiredly against its frame as Conrad knelt next to the injured doctor, worry pinching at his face.
“Worth,” he said gently, “you awake?” Lamont could hear muttered grumblings escaping the battered blond as his body shifted about slowly. Conrad’s hand immediately shot out, pressing against a pointy shoulder, trying to still the movement.
“Jesus,” the vampire said in a thin, unsteady voice, “should you even be moving? You look awful.”
“Ain’t tryin’ ta win any beauty contests, Fagula” was the grumbled response. A small smile creased Conrad’s face at Luce’s muttered insult. The smile grew as a bony, yellowed hand reached up to pat the vampire’s slim chest. “’Ey puppy,” Luce drawled, voice scratchy and strained.
Lamont looked on as the two bantered briefly, light insults traded back and forth with no real venom behind them. He wondered at the sharp pang that echoed through his chest as he watched Conrad fuss over Luce, re-arranging all the pillows and tucking the blankets more securely around his emaciated form. Luce groused about the treatment, insisting he didn’t need a “fucking nursemaid” but didn’t actually do much to stop the vampire’s ministrations. After so many years spent around the blond, Lamont could tell that Luce was secretly enjoying the attention. That as much as he bitched and moaned, he relished these moments spent being the center of Conrad’s attention in a way he never had with anyone in memory. Lamont watched the exchanges, a coldness creeping through him as he was left, for once, as a bystander instead of participant. He physically flinched when Conrad’s eyes briefly shot his way, hard and unforgiving, before looking back down towards Luce.
“This place is filthy,” the vampire sniffed suddenly.
“No shit,” Luce said grumpily. “Fightin’ off freaks’ll do that.”
“I’m not going to spend the next several hours surrounded by filth,” Conrad said firmly, rising to his feet.
“Seen th’ place lately?” Luce smirked. “Ain’t exactly th’ type a’ livin’ space ta land me in Better Homes n’ Gardens.”
“The fact you even know what that is,” Conrad said archly, looking down at the blond with a superior sneer, “is hysterical in and of itself.”
“Fuck off,” Luce growled. “I’m not th’ one lookin’ ta play maid.”
“Think there’s a mop in the back storeroom,” Lamont said quietly, wishing that the night could just be over already. “Probably some bleach, too.”
“Thank you,” Conrad said stiffly. “I’ll go check.”
“I could help,” the Italian said, moving from the doorway to let Conrad pass, “if you like.”
“Suit yourself,” the vampire replied carelessly, walking by him without so much as a glance. Lamont could practically feel Luce glaring at him. He looked over, meeting the sunken eyes with a desperation. I’m trying, he thought. I’m trying. But how he was going to sort things out when Conrad would barely even talk to him, Lamont had no idea.
By the time daylight arrived, Lamont was slumped exhaustedly against a wall, reeking of bleach. Conrad sat at Luce’s desk in the chair they’d found miraculously intact in the wreckage of the room. Having removed his dress shirt when he began the cleaning, the buzzing, flickering lights of the clinic bounced off the white of the vampire’s undershirt, emphasizing how close in color it was to his pale, dead skin. Neither man spoke, focusing instead on the gasping breaths emanating from the doctor’s twitching form.
Luce had started complaining of feeling dizzy shortly after they’d begun scrubbing the floors, curled in around his stomach and shivering slightly. Their worry had grown when he’d started vomiting, bile mixed with blood spattering on the floor and spilling down his front. Conrad had cradled Luce as the blond shook, holding a cold compress to his increasingly feverish forehead as Lamont cleaned up the sick and swiped at the bloody messes smeared across the floors.
Conrad had joined in the cleaning efforts when Luce finally fell unconscious, abandoning his post at the doctor’s side in favor of making himself useful. Luce’s labored, hitching breathing stayed a constant companion to their feverish efforts as they scrubbed and polished until the clinic shined like it hadn’t in years. Back when Lamont was helping him set the place up and life was uncharted, exciting and new. Now, wrung out from the stress and worry, they both sat listlessly, waiting in silence.
A sharp rapping on the clinic’s door had Lamont springing to his feet. A wave of relief washed over him as he checked his watch.
“About fucking time,” he exclaimed. He turned to face Conrad, meeting the vampire’s tired eyes. “You’ll probably want to stand back,” he said, “I’m gonna be opening the door.”
“What time is it?” he asked tiredly.
“Around seven,” Lamont replied. “Sun’ll be up.” Conrad sighed and rose.
“Let me know when it’s safe to come back,” he said wearily. Lamont nodded in response as the vampire grabbed his shirt from the back of the chair where he‘d hung it, shrugging into it as he trudged toward the back.
Once Conrad was safely out of the room, Lamont rushed over to the door, cracking it open nervously and peering outside as he wished he had a better way of identifying who was on the other side. (Maybe now Luce would finally let him install that peep hole he’d been pestering him about for years now.)
The tall figure in the doorway blocked the pale winter daylight struggling to filter in, a broad shouldered body wrapped in the inky recesses of a thick leather trench coat. Their face was hidden in shadows by a round, wide brimmed hat, leaving them a featureless slash of gloom against the weak, gray morning. A large black medical bag was clenched loosely in a gloved hand at the figure’s side, releasing faint fragrances of arcane herbs and potions far more common in some archaic yesteryear.
Lamont opened the door wide with a smile.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice, Saul,” he said gratefully, stepping aside to allow the figure entrance.
“No need to thank me, Mr. Toucey,” came the smooth, even reply, clipped footsteps echoing through the clinic as Saul marched through the doorway. “My schedule was, fortunately, quite clear.”
Lamont had already schooled his face into its usual mask of pleasantness, contours arranged in what he knew were genial, harmless configurations. He reached out automatically to help Saul with his coat, a heavy affair that covered practically every part of his body. The reason for the coverage was made clear as vibrant crimson skin peeked through where Saul’s long sleeved dress shirt had ridden up, exposing his wrists. Waiting as the demon removed his hat as well, unveiling his short, sharply curing horns, Lamont spared a moment as he hung the articles next to the door to mentally thank Conrad for his insistence over having the coat hooks installed.
“You would have done well to call sooner,” Saul said, solid yellow eyes already studying Luce’s struggling form. “He’s rather far gone.”
“Sorry about that, Saul,” Lamont said, voice smooth and apologetic. “The door was sealed until daylight.”
“That was most foolish,“ the demon said evenly, glowing eyes snapping in Lamont’s direction.
“Wasn’t my decision,” Lamont said, holding his hands out to the sides, fingers splayed.
“Hmm, yes,” Saul intoned stoically. “You do realize this is considerably more work than anticipated. My standard fees will not apply.”
“Thought that might be the case,” Lamont replied. “What are we talking, then? Blood lien? Flesh bond?”
“Life boon,” Saul said firmly. Lamont’s eyes widened slightly as he worked to keep his shock from registering fully on his face.
“That’s pretty steep, Saul,” he said carefully.
“This one is nearly dead,” Saul replied. “It is no easy task you ask of me, Mr. Toucey.”
“So difficult it’s life boon worthy?” Lamont asked skeptically.
“There are those who would ask for more.”
Lamont made a show of considering for several moments. He would agree, of course, no matter how the thought of owing Saul a life boon terrified him. It would never do, though, to let on just how much Luce meant to him. Might encourage the demon to ask for more.
“I suppose it‘s worth the trouble,” he said finally, sighing as if the whole thing was a minor inconvenience instead of holy fucking shit scary as fuck. He extended his hand, cool and sweatless despite his inner turmoil, sealing the deal with a brief, firm handshake.
Negotiations complete, he excused himself, heading back to give Conrad the all clear. He was standing in the kitchen, foot tapping impatiently on the warped linoleum. The sound of Lamont’s heavy footsteps prompted him to whip around, arms crossed over his slim chest.
“Took you long enough,” he snapped. Lamont bristled inwardly, grateful to still be wearing his game face as he faced the peevish vampire. It had been a long night for both of them and the last thing this mess needed was him reacting to Conrad’s poor temper.
“You’re welcome to watch Saul work,” he said evenly, “if you like.”
“God only knows what sort of hack he is,” Conrad mumbled as he pushed past. “I mean, if he’s the only one that’ll work on Worth, he must be an abysmal quack.”
“I’ll make sure to relay how highly you rate his services,” Lamont called after him. He considered calling the vampire back, more adequately preparing him for Saul’s…unusual appearance before shrugging the thought off. To hell with it. Conrad had been miserable company all night long. Would serve him right if he ended up sticking his foot in his mouth. (Or if Saul decided to lodge it there for him.) Smile taking on a slightly malicious tinge, he sauntered into the clinic just in time to watch Conrad shrieking as Saul turned to face him.
“What are-” he spluttered, “you, fuck-”
“I‘d be most appreciative,” Saul said in his expressionless voice, “if you refrained from such vulgar language in my presence.”
“What the fuck are you?!” Conrad exclaimed, pointing a shaking finger towards the demon. Saul blinked slowly, smooth red face as stoic as ever as he looked in Lamont’s direction.
“Mr. Toucey,” he said coolly, “would you kindly restrain your associate?”
“Saul’s a demon, Conrad,” Lamont said, having to work more than just a little to keep from sounding smug. “Best in the biz if you’re in need of serious healing.”
“That makes no sense!” Conrad snapped, striding angrily to where the doctor lay, glaring down at the demon. “Aren’t demons all, you know, evil?”
“Do I look evil to you?” Saul said, expression edging toward insulted.
“Yes!” Conrad shrieked. “I mean, you’ve got the horns, the fucking-”
“Language!” Saul said forcefully.
“-eyes,” Conrad continued, undeterred. “For God’s sake, you’re as red as, as-”
“As blood?” Saul asked, pinning the vampire with glowing, yellow eyes. “Was that the word you were looking for, life drinker?” Conrad ground to a halt, guilt immediately flooding his face as he realized what he’d been saying.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m, so sorry. I- it’s been a long night…”
“Hmph,” Saul sniffed. “Clearly.”
“Really long night,” he said softly, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the faded tiles of the clinic floor he’d just spent hours scrubbing.
“Why don’t you sit down, Conrad?” Lamont interjected, giving the vampire an out. “Give Saul some space to work?” He was torn between the urge to laugh gleefully at the dejected slump of Conrad’s shoulders or go over and try and comfort the poor guy. Was comical, really, how easily his temper put him in these situations. He watched as the vampire slouched his way over to the chair, slumping into it again as he rested his elbows against the desk.
Turning his attention back to his patient, Saul reached into his open bag, withdrawing several glass bottles, a candle, some chalk and various dried plants that Lamont couldn’t even begin to identify. Arranging the articles carefully to the side, he began carefully removing the nest of pillows and blankets that had been arranged around the blond’s emaciated form. Once he’d cleared the area of all items, he extracted his hands from their leather encasements, revealing black-taloned claws that he moved to hover inches above Luce’s heaving chest.
“I sense a great deal of internal damage,” Saul said as the yellow bled from his eyes, leaving them an unfathomable, lightless black. “Massive bleeding, kidney failure, laceration of the liver, several broken bones.” The black receded from his eyes as he turned to look toward Lamont. “I cannot heal all his injuries,” he said dispassionately, “but his life will be spared.”
“Just do what you can,” Lamont said softly.
“Of course,” Saul replied stiffly as he leaned toward candle, shooting a small, sputtering flame out the tip of one of one claw to light its untouched wick. Ignoring Conrad’s gasp at the small display of magic, he reached for the chalk he’d set aside, color bleeding once more from his eyes. The two men watched intently as the demon traced intricate patterns around the blond’s body, arcane symbols woven together across the cracking tiles. Once done, he carefully undid the buttons of the doctor’s shirt, using a sharply curving talon to slice through the undershirt beneath, exposing Luce’s pale, distended belly.
A quiet murmur fell from ruby lips as Saul continued with the ritual. Crushing the dried plants in his hands, his chanting rose and fell as he scattered them inside his chalked out circle. Voice sonorous and strong, he wove his spell around the doctor, magic deep enough to send out shivering tendrils of power to dance lightly against the observers’ twitching skin.
The chalk lines began to glow as magic filled the room, bathing everything in pulsing, orange light. Lamont held in a gasp as he felt the sucking pull of the spell surrounding him, drawing all the energy from the air around him, dimming the room’s lights until the only illumination came from the crackling of the circle’s power.
It almost didn’t register when Conrad’s cold hand grasped onto his sweat slicked palm, anger and resentment set aside when faced with this strange sight. Saul’s voice rose and fell, weaving all the dancing light around him like a glowing shroud. It pulsed brightest at his temples, wreathing ‘round his head like some holy circlet.
“Oborior!” Saul cried suddenly, raising his hands above his head. “Oborior!” he repeated, then shoved his clawed hands deep into the flesh of Luce’s gut.
Luce screamed, eyes flying open as his back arched, hands scrabbling at the floor. Lamont held tight to Conrad’s hand as the vampire surged forward, screaming Luce’s name as the demon rocked back and forth, chanting ringing out as the light flashed blindingly around his kneeling form. Drawing Conrad near, Lamont held him tight, placing his lips desperately against his ear.
“Don’t look!” he screamed over the noise, closing his own eyes tightly against the grisly sight. “Just don’t look!”
A booming clap shook the room, plunging everything into sudden darkness. Lamont stood, skin still shivering as the last of the magic crackled over him. The familiar feeling of Conrad’s slender form, still clasped against his chest, helped steady him as the lights slowly began flickering back on.
In the sudden, ringing silence Conrad shoved him off, racing to the doctor’s side in a panic, heedless of the panting, red-skinned form beside him. “WORTH!” he cried, clasping the man’s gaunt face in shaking hands. The vampire’s eyes flew frantically over the scarred frame beneath him, widening in surprise when he noticed the concave yet intact flesh of the doctor’s heaving stomach. “Say something!”
“Fuckin‘ hell,” a familiar, accented voice drifted out shakily, “mind th’ merchandise, puppy.”
“Thank God,” Conrad gasped, collapsing onto Luce’s thin chest in relief.
“It is finished,” Saul rasped, rising haltingly to his feet. “I have done all I can do.”
“And I thank you,” Lamont said, walking over quickly and clapping a hand on the demon’s shoulder. “I am in your debt, my friend.”
“We are both aware of exactly what is owed me, Mr. Toucey,” Saul said stiffly, extracting a handkerchief from his pants pocket to dab at his sweat drenched brow. “And believe me, I am not one to leave a debt uncollected.”
“Of course,” Lamont said evenly, tamping down the twist of fear inside him. “I would expect nothing less.” He walked back toward the clinic’s entrance, gathering the demon’s outer garments as Saul began collecting his materials. He spared a moment to shoot Conrad an irritated glance when the vampire refused to move, forcing the demon to maneuver around his sprawling limbs to retrieve the last of his items.
“Thank you again,” Lamont said warmly, handing Saul his hat and coat and walking him to the door.
“The man will still need fluids,” Saul intoned, eyes flicking over toward where Conrad was helping Luce stand, steadying the blond as he moved him toward the clinic’s back rooms. “An analgesic for his cracked ribs and the bruising to his kidneys.”
“I’ll make sure he gets it,” Lamont said smoothly.
“Indeed,” Saul said, placing his hat upon his head. “Then I bid you good day, Mr. Toucey.” A faint smile touched the demon’s solemn face, dark glint dancing in his yellow eyes. “You’ll be hearing from me.” He leaned forward, lips parting just enough to give Lamont a glimpse of the dagger shaped teeth behind them. “Soon.”
Lamont was helpless to stop the nervous chuckle that started spilling out as he watched Saul draw back, smile still painting his face as he opened the clinic doors. It was quickly erased, though, by the ginger-topped form that slammed through the doorway, nearly bowling him over.
“Ohmygod I’m so sorry I totally didn’t see you there!” an excited voice immediately began to babble. “Are you alright? Did I- say are you a demon? Oh man that is so cool I‘ve always wanted to see one for myself hey Worth, since when did you start treating-”
“Why,” hissed Saul, “are you still standing in my way?”
“Hanna,” the quiet voice of the excitable redhead’s tall, green-tinged companion interjected. “Perhaps you should let the man through.”
“Oh sorry,” Hanna said, smiling sheepishly. “Guess you probably have someplace you’re trying to get to, huh? Well don’t let me stop you! Demons first!” Flashing a brilliant grin, he swept his arms out grandly as he stepped to the side, indicating the now cleared path the demon was now welcome to take. Grumbling as he went, Saul stalked off, grumpier than Lamont remembered ever having seen him. Wide eyes of electric blue also followed the demon’s progress before snapping back to stare up at the exhausted face in front of him.
“Hi Lamont,” Hanna chirped, “how’s it going?”