[Twilight AU] (PG-13)
Author's Note: Written for Human!Carlisle, vampire!Edward, 19th C. A London doctor discovers a killer while body snatching. Warning: Biteage and blood.
Mister Cullen's arrangement with the sexton had served him well thus far. But even the most well-balanced exchange will have its share of hazard.
"I've a right fresh one fawr ye, guv'nor," the scraggy old man said, leading the way between the headstones, dark lantern in hand, both men carrying shovels and coils of rope. "One Edward Mason, rich woman's only son. 'E's a young laddie, snatched awaye too soon, in the very proime o' loife. Consumption's wot took 'um."
"That will do, Stanger: he'll make a good specimen," Cullen said, as his companion paused before the grave, clearly a fresh one, since he could smell the recently turned earth.
"Best be on yer guard, then: they say that th' consumptive turn to vampires after they're consoigned t' th' earth," the sexton said, thrusting his shovel into the ground and setting down the lantern on a nearby box tomb. "Folk're already chatterin' about a bloodsucker wot's been creeping about at noight." Cullen wrinkled his brow at the ghoulish lilt in the older man's voice.
"Superstitious nonsense," Cullen said, trying to stifle a snort of a laugh as he set down his rope and took off his frock coat before setting to work, digging out the coffin.
The sexton leered at him, the light of the dark lantern hollowing out his eyes and the lines of his face as he bent to their work. "Ah wouldn't be so quick to saye that, Mister Cullen. "Ah've seen plenny o' straynge things in me toime, I 'as."
Cullen was not about to comment on the sexton and his fondness for gin and how that may have played tricks with his senses.
At length, their labors uncovered the coffin, and they prised up the lid, revealing the body within. Sure enough, it was that of a young man in the prime of life, a youth so fresh and rosy-cheeked, he might have merely been sleeping. The light of the dark lantern revealed a film of fresh crimson blood on his soft, full lips: not an unusual sight in cases of consumption.
"He's a roight pretty one, ayen't he? As fair as a gell," the sexton said. "Be a shayme t' cut this one, won't it?"
"I'll be opening his torso. There's little point in cutting open the skull," Cullen said, patiently. as they drew the body out and laid it on a winding sheet. Cullen covered it up, hiding the face, before they reclosed the coffin, filled in the grave and carried the body away to Cullen's coffin.
* * * * *
Back in his laboratory, Cullen laid the body out on a sheet of ice that covered the largest work table, the better to keep it cold while he worked. The sexton, for all his ghoulishness, was right in calling the boy beautiful, but it was a forbidden sort of beauty, the kind of beauty that had caused the downfall of some business men caught in a house of ill repute on Cleveland Street. He pushed these thoughts aside as he finished washing the body prior to the autopsy.
But as he set up his camera, intending to take some pictures of the process, he returned to the work room to find it empty. The youth had vanished, but no one could have taken him: Cullen had locked the door of the laboratory behind him (the only key being the one in his waistcoat pocket) and the windows of the basement had been bricked over to cover his work.
Something rustled in the shadows and something rushed him from behind, pinning him to the slab. He had enough space to turn his head and look into the face of his attacker. No less than the same youth whose body had lain moments before on the slab, his eyes burning a strange shade of gold.
"This should not take long: your blood tempted me from the moment that you opened my grave," the youth said. And he sank his teeth into the side of Cullen's neck. A wave of pleasure flowed through Cullen's flesh, and he felt his skin grow cool at the site of the bite. His head sang from loss of blood and he swooned in the youth's arms...
Mister Cullen's arrangement with the sexton had served him well thus far. But even the most well-balanced exchange will have its share of hazard.
"I've a right fresh one fawr ye, guv'nor," the scraggy old man said, leading the way between the headstones, dark lantern in hand, both men carrying shovels and coils of rope. "One Edward Mason, rich woman's only son. 'E's a young laddie, snatched awaye too soon, in the very proime o' loife. Consumption's wot took 'um."
"That will do, Stanger: he'll make a good specimen," Cullen said, as his companion paused before the grave, clearly a fresh one, since he could smell the recently turned earth.
"Best be on yer guard, then: they say that th' consumptive turn to vampires after they're consoigned t' th' earth," the sexton said, thrusting his shovel into the ground and setting down the lantern on a nearby box tomb. "Folk're already chatterin' about a bloodsucker wot's been creeping about at noight." Cullen wrinkled his brow at the ghoulish lilt in the older man's voice.
"Superstitious nonsense," Cullen said, trying to stifle a snort of a laugh as he set down his rope and took off his frock coat before setting to work, digging out the coffin.
The sexton leered at him, the light of the dark lantern hollowing out his eyes and the lines of his face as he bent to their work. "Ah wouldn't be so quick to saye that, Mister Cullen. "Ah've seen plenny o' straynge things in me toime, I 'as."
Cullen was not about to comment on the sexton and his fondness for gin and how that may have played tricks with his senses.
At length, their labors uncovered the coffin, and they prised up the lid, revealing the body within. Sure enough, it was that of a young man in the prime of life, a youth so fresh and rosy-cheeked, he might have merely been sleeping. The light of the dark lantern revealed a film of fresh crimson blood on his soft, full lips: not an unusual sight in cases of consumption.
"He's a roight pretty one, ayen't he? As fair as a gell," the sexton said. "Be a shayme t' cut this one, won't it?"
"I'll be opening his torso. There's little point in cutting open the skull," Cullen said, patiently. as they drew the body out and laid it on a winding sheet. Cullen covered it up, hiding the face, before they reclosed the coffin, filled in the grave and carried the body away to Cullen's coffin.
* * * * *
Back in his laboratory, Cullen laid the body out on a sheet of ice that covered the largest work table, the better to keep it cold while he worked. The sexton, for all his ghoulishness, was right in calling the boy beautiful, but it was a forbidden sort of beauty, the kind of beauty that had caused the downfall of some business men caught in a house of ill repute on Cleveland Street. He pushed these thoughts aside as he finished washing the body prior to the autopsy.
But as he set up his camera, intending to take some pictures of the process, he returned to the work room to find it empty. The youth had vanished, but no one could have taken him: Cullen had locked the door of the laboratory behind him (the only key being the one in his waistcoat pocket) and the windows of the basement had been bricked over to cover his work.
Something rustled in the shadows and something rushed him from behind, pinning him to the slab. He had enough space to turn his head and look into the face of his attacker. No less than the same youth whose body had lain moments before on the slab, his eyes burning a strange shade of gold.
"This should not take long: your blood tempted me from the moment that you opened my grave," the youth said. And he sank his teeth into the side of Cullen's neck. A wave of pleasure flowed through Cullen's flesh, and he felt his skin grow cool at the site of the bite. His head sang from loss of blood and he swooned in the youth's arms...