These Vampire Hearts & Operatic Skeletons [02/02]
Title: These Vampire Hearts & Operatic Skeletons.
Author: Me [shattered_ink ]
Rated: PG - very mild swearing & alcohol & fangs.
Summary: More of the vampires. More of the fluffishness. 'Nuff said.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Didn't happen. James & Cora, I do own. Title is partly from Nearly Witches by Panic at the Disco / TPRJA. Inspired by Fall Out Boy's video for "A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More 'Touch Me'."
A/N: I've got nothing to say except to offer a heartfelt THANK YOU to anyone who's read my fics & especially anyone who's commented. It makes me feel happy and luffed. :] So thank you!
The town was quieter, more cautious that night, as though it could sense the darkness rising.
Cora was a glimmer of light, her gown sweeping to her feet angelically, her thick black hair pulled back with sparkling clips. She saw Will and smiled, but her face fell as her eyes passed over something on his right - oh. Pete.
His eyes explored Ash, and the screaming-red dress stretched tight across her stick figure. He ran his tongue over his teeth. “You look delicious.”
The blood rushed from Cora’s face and Will remembered. She had seen; she knew - and there was no getting past that or overlooking it. She would never trust Pete, and Will was certain that, if she knew the truth, she would hate him too. If she knew that he was no better than Pete, no better than any creature with fangs and a taste for blood, no better than a murderer.
“Will.” Pete clapped his shoulder. “I said I’m leaving with Ash. Will you two be all right?”
It wasn’t so much a concern as it was a reminder: Guard her. Because of Pete’s mistake. Though Will couldn’t even complain, seeing as how he would have followed her to the ends of the earth, with or without Pete’s orders. “Yes,” he said. “We’ll be fine. I mean - if that’s all right with you, Miss Cora,” he added, his guilt anchoring his eyes to the ground.
“Of course it is,” she answered, but her eyes were still cut at Pete and her mouth was parted and Will could almost see the words running through her mind, itching to be said. But she shook her head and took his hand and he led her inside, away from the memories, if only for that instant.
The ballroom was swarming with people, their murmurs becoming a sound as natural as breathing. Somewhere in the expanse of sweat-sheened faces and babbling drunks, Pete and Ash were pushing through to disappear into some dark corner. But Cora didn’t need to know that - though she was probably thinking it too.
“Tell me something,” Will said, “if you don’t mind my asking. How did you get involved with someone like her? Someone like Ashley?”
Cora gave him a vague smile and said, “I have no idea.” She examined her fingernails. “I look out for her, she looks out for me. Being around her - it makes me feel safe. Like no one can approach me. No one can hurt me.”
He softened, his fingers finding and enlacing with hers. “I won’t hurt you,” he said, and he wanted the words to be true so badly, it hurt. “I’ll look out for you. I’ll protect you too.”
For the longest moment, she studied him. “Thank you,” she said. And he heard himself saying, “You’re so beautiful.”
She blushed and looked down, and the sight of her skin reddening reminded him of how human she was, until the color drained from her skin as she stared at something across the room; Will looked up and watched, horrified, as James approached, his hair slicked back and his smile intact and those dangerous eyes set on Cora.
“Miss Swanson. We meet again,” he purred, pressing his lips to her hand. “I was hoping you’d join me on a walk across town?”
Her eyes - like crystal balls - seemed to catch onto something before Will could, and his throat tightened as he tried to figure out what it was she had noticed. “Would you excuse me, Will?” she said. Her voice was too light, too pleasant.
“Cora -”
“There’s something I have to do,” she whispered. And when he looked at her again, her eyes were full of that same aberrant wisdom he’d seen in them that first night. This was stupid, this was senseless, this was insane; this could not end well. But when he said, “All right,” he knew it was too late to take back the words.
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before she let it fall.
James’s smile glistened as he looped his arm with hers and led her away from the crowd, from the ballroom, from Will.
“Where have you been?” he demanded.
“Inspecting the potted plants.” Brendon nodded, satisfied. “They taste like apples in the middle of summer, rich and crisp and -”
“Where’s Pete?”
“Over there.”
“Thank you.” Will followed the path of Brendon’s pointing finger to a corner of the parlor.
Pete cupped Ashley’s face in his hands as he kissed her, almost delicately, like she mattered. Like he cared. Will almost hated to interrupt. “Pete, I think we have an emergency.”
The kiss was over. Pete scowled, murmured something to Ash, then stood and pulled Will into another corner. Once they were out of earshot, Pete snapped. “What is it? Are you still talking about Berkeley?”
“Yes,” Will spat, “but this is getting out of control. Now it would help if you would quit acting like such a bitch and listen to me for once.”
Pete blinked, but kept his mouth shut.
“Good. Now, Cora seems to know what she’s doing but I’m scared. James is bad news - I can feel that, I’m sure about that. But I don’t know what his story is and for that, I need your help.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do? If he’s as dangerous as you think he is, why would I want to get involved?”
“BECAUSE THIS WAS YOUR FAULT TO BEGIN WITH.”
“All right,” he hissed. “Fine. Yes. It’s my fault. But what am I supposed to do about it?”
“Research him. Dig something up. Figure him out. I don’t know.” Will sighed. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt tonight, Pete. So please - try. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Fine.”
“Swear it.”
Pete groaned, but he lifted his hand to his chest and crossed himself, his fingers moving in the complicated motions of the Dandies’ seal. “I promise,” he said, and that was all Will needed to hear.
“I’ll be back,” Pete assured her. “I’ve got to handle something.” She giggled and cradled a bottle of champagne, oblivious to him as usual. He kissed her forehead and headed out of the room.
The stairs creaked as he climbed them, the air becoming thicker as he neared the top. Elegant portraits lined the walls, the faces of the Berkeley ancestors staring out at him as he moved along. He didn’t know what he was looking for - a weapon of some sort, or perhaps a curious letter. Something that would tie up the loose strings.
Pete walked the length of the hall and came to a stop beside the final painting. In richer colors and more detail than his ancestors was a portrait of James himself. Pete lifted his hand to the canvas and touched the material, running his fingers along the collar of James’s coat, the handsome crook of his nose and - and he felt lumps. Raised letters.
His stomach churned, and for once he wished he were mortal so he could throw up his disgust.
In the ancient code of the Vampyre, raised marks like these on portraits or photographs marked members of the Shadow Coven - the most reckless, immoral, dangerous vampires in existence. And James was one of them.
Pete bolted down the hall, down the creaky stairs and into the parlor. Ash was still slumped on the sofa, the now-empty champagne bottle still cradled in her arms, her mouth parted and alcohol-scented drool spilling out. “Ash,” he said, shaking her shoulders. “Ash, wake up. Where’s Will? Ash. Ashley.”
He stopped breathing. Leaned closer and pressed an ear to her chest. Silence. The rise and fall of breathing, the constant thump of a heartbeat - gone and replaced with silence. And then Pete did something he’d never done, had never needed to do, had never known he was capable of doing in all his years as a Dandy: he covered his face and dropped to his knees and let out an arid, retching sob. He cried.
A firm hand on his shoulder made him tremble, but he kept his face covered and his head down. “Pete.” Brendon’s voice, somewhat muffled by food. “Something wrong?”
The answer was sitting right there, in the form of Ash’s lifeless body.
“Oh, Pete.” Will rested a hand on his other shoulder, and Pete wished he had the strength to tell them to get the hell off.
“She was a drunk, man,” Brendon said. “It’s not your fault.” But it was, Pete thought. Because everything was his fault. He could have saved her, could have stopped her before it was too late. But he hadn’t and she was dead and he wished he could die too.
“Cheer up,” Will bit out. “It’s not as though you loved her.”
Pete wasn’t sure why these words angered him: because he’d said them himself once before? Because they were a lie - a lie of the most horrible, disgusting kind? Or because they were, in fact, the truth?
His voice was so hollow when he spoke that his words seemed to echo. “On the bright side: I found out his secret.”
Will stiffened. “Did you?”
“Yeah. Shadow Coven. He’s - he’s one of them.”
“No.” Will’s nails dug into his palms, his eyes sown shut to hold back tears. “Damn.”
Brendon - breadcrumbs dotting his lips - patted Will on the back and said, “Go. Find her, man. Before it’s too late.”
And with a final glance at the corpse that was Ash, at the heap of wreckage that was Pete, at the world crumbling right before his eyes - Will gave a rigid nod.
Then he ran.
The town had never seemed so ominous as when he raced through it that night. Buildings loomed over him, and the sound of his feet slapping the concrete bounced back to him like the ticking of a bomb. The moon was full and round and his only guide down the endless avenues.
He found her about half a mile outside of town.
She stood alone, leaning over the rails and peering out at the sparkling bits of moon in the near-black water below. Even in the dark, he could see the gems that were her eyes - though now they seemed tired and sullen.
He moved towards her and took her gently by the shoulders. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Did something happen? How’d you get out here? Are you okay -”
“I know.”
He stopped. Frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I know what he is. What you are. I’ve known from the beginning.”
And Will found himself teetering on the edge of both fear and relief, until the cliffs fell away and left him hanging onto his concern. “Did he hurt you?” he whispered. “Did he put his hands on you?”
“No.”
“Did something happen, Cora?” he demanded. “I swear I’ll hang him, I’ll hang myself if anything happened to you -”
“No.” She shook her head. “He knew that I knew. That I saw what he is. And it scared him. He left. He’s gone.” She covered her face and inhaled. “I know it’s wrong,” she said, “but I don’t care. I don’t care that you’re not alive or that you drink blood or whatever it is that you do. All I care about is - is you.”
So that’s what he’d seen in her eyes - the Sight. She’d known and she’d cared for him anyway.
He took her face in his hands and asked: “Do you love me?”
She said, with a tremulous smile, “I’m afraid so.” And he kissed her without thinking, knowing he could but trusting himself not to hurt her. The moon was the sole witness of this union, and the tastes of poison and passion had never before fused so seamlessly.
Epilogue
The funeral was held a week later.
The town’s finest donned black and pretended to mourn the loss of a girl they never knew. Some people cried, because it was the proper thing to do. Some people shook their heads and said, “Such a shame,” because it was the proper thing to do. There was only one face in the crowd stained with real tears and genuine grief, and that was Pete’s.
Brendon and Will stared at the casket, their expressions perplexed, as though they couldn’t figure out what they were seeing. Cora’s eyes were red and her skin was icier than usual; the veil covering her face hid her cryptic Mona Lisa smile - and the fangs sprouting behind it.
Funerals: such tragic, dark occasions. But with every tragedy came the promise of the brighter days and restless nights to come.
Author: Me [shattered_ink ]
Rated: PG - very mild swearing & alcohol & fangs.
Summary: More of the vampires. More of the fluffishness. 'Nuff said.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Didn't happen. James & Cora, I do own. Title is partly from Nearly Witches by Panic at the Disco / TPRJA. Inspired by Fall Out Boy's video for "A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More 'Touch Me'."
A/N: I've got nothing to say except to offer a heartfelt THANK YOU to anyone who's read my fics & especially anyone who's commented. It makes me feel happy and luffed. :] So thank you!
The town was quieter, more cautious that night, as though it could sense the darkness rising.
Cora was a glimmer of light, her gown sweeping to her feet angelically, her thick black hair pulled back with sparkling clips. She saw Will and smiled, but her face fell as her eyes passed over something on his right - oh. Pete.
His eyes explored Ash, and the screaming-red dress stretched tight across her stick figure. He ran his tongue over his teeth. “You look delicious.”
The blood rushed from Cora’s face and Will remembered. She had seen; she knew - and there was no getting past that or overlooking it. She would never trust Pete, and Will was certain that, if she knew the truth, she would hate him too. If she knew that he was no better than Pete, no better than any creature with fangs and a taste for blood, no better than a murderer.
“Will.” Pete clapped his shoulder. “I said I’m leaving with Ash. Will you two be all right?”
It wasn’t so much a concern as it was a reminder: Guard her. Because of Pete’s mistake. Though Will couldn’t even complain, seeing as how he would have followed her to the ends of the earth, with or without Pete’s orders. “Yes,” he said. “We’ll be fine. I mean - if that’s all right with you, Miss Cora,” he added, his guilt anchoring his eyes to the ground.
“Of course it is,” she answered, but her eyes were still cut at Pete and her mouth was parted and Will could almost see the words running through her mind, itching to be said. But she shook her head and took his hand and he led her inside, away from the memories, if only for that instant.
The ballroom was swarming with people, their murmurs becoming a sound as natural as breathing. Somewhere in the expanse of sweat-sheened faces and babbling drunks, Pete and Ash were pushing through to disappear into some dark corner. But Cora didn’t need to know that - though she was probably thinking it too.
“Tell me something,” Will said, “if you don’t mind my asking. How did you get involved with someone like her? Someone like Ashley?”
Cora gave him a vague smile and said, “I have no idea.” She examined her fingernails. “I look out for her, she looks out for me. Being around her - it makes me feel safe. Like no one can approach me. No one can hurt me.”
He softened, his fingers finding and enlacing with hers. “I won’t hurt you,” he said, and he wanted the words to be true so badly, it hurt. “I’ll look out for you. I’ll protect you too.”
For the longest moment, she studied him. “Thank you,” she said. And he heard himself saying, “You’re so beautiful.”
She blushed and looked down, and the sight of her skin reddening reminded him of how human she was, until the color drained from her skin as she stared at something across the room; Will looked up and watched, horrified, as James approached, his hair slicked back and his smile intact and those dangerous eyes set on Cora.
“Miss Swanson. We meet again,” he purred, pressing his lips to her hand. “I was hoping you’d join me on a walk across town?”
Her eyes - like crystal balls - seemed to catch onto something before Will could, and his throat tightened as he tried to figure out what it was she had noticed. “Would you excuse me, Will?” she said. Her voice was too light, too pleasant.
“Cora -”
“There’s something I have to do,” she whispered. And when he looked at her again, her eyes were full of that same aberrant wisdom he’d seen in them that first night. This was stupid, this was senseless, this was insane; this could not end well. But when he said, “All right,” he knew it was too late to take back the words.
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before she let it fall.
James’s smile glistened as he looped his arm with hers and led her away from the crowd, from the ballroom, from Will.
“Where have you been?” he demanded.
“Inspecting the potted plants.” Brendon nodded, satisfied. “They taste like apples in the middle of summer, rich and crisp and -”
“Where’s Pete?”
“Over there.”
“Thank you.” Will followed the path of Brendon’s pointing finger to a corner of the parlor.
Pete cupped Ashley’s face in his hands as he kissed her, almost delicately, like she mattered. Like he cared. Will almost hated to interrupt. “Pete, I think we have an emergency.”
The kiss was over. Pete scowled, murmured something to Ash, then stood and pulled Will into another corner. Once they were out of earshot, Pete snapped. “What is it? Are you still talking about Berkeley?”
“Yes,” Will spat, “but this is getting out of control. Now it would help if you would quit acting like such a bitch and listen to me for once.”
Pete blinked, but kept his mouth shut.
“Good. Now, Cora seems to know what she’s doing but I’m scared. James is bad news - I can feel that, I’m sure about that. But I don’t know what his story is and for that, I need your help.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do? If he’s as dangerous as you think he is, why would I want to get involved?”
“BECAUSE THIS WAS YOUR FAULT TO BEGIN WITH.”
“All right,” he hissed. “Fine. Yes. It’s my fault. But what am I supposed to do about it?”
“Research him. Dig something up. Figure him out. I don’t know.” Will sighed. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt tonight, Pete. So please - try. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Fine.”
“Swear it.”
Pete groaned, but he lifted his hand to his chest and crossed himself, his fingers moving in the complicated motions of the Dandies’ seal. “I promise,” he said, and that was all Will needed to hear.
“I’ll be back,” Pete assured her. “I’ve got to handle something.” She giggled and cradled a bottle of champagne, oblivious to him as usual. He kissed her forehead and headed out of the room.
The stairs creaked as he climbed them, the air becoming thicker as he neared the top. Elegant portraits lined the walls, the faces of the Berkeley ancestors staring out at him as he moved along. He didn’t know what he was looking for - a weapon of some sort, or perhaps a curious letter. Something that would tie up the loose strings.
Pete walked the length of the hall and came to a stop beside the final painting. In richer colors and more detail than his ancestors was a portrait of James himself. Pete lifted his hand to the canvas and touched the material, running his fingers along the collar of James’s coat, the handsome crook of his nose and - and he felt lumps. Raised letters.
His stomach churned, and for once he wished he were mortal so he could throw up his disgust.
In the ancient code of the Vampyre, raised marks like these on portraits or photographs marked members of the Shadow Coven - the most reckless, immoral, dangerous vampires in existence. And James was one of them.
Pete bolted down the hall, down the creaky stairs and into the parlor. Ash was still slumped on the sofa, the now-empty champagne bottle still cradled in her arms, her mouth parted and alcohol-scented drool spilling out. “Ash,” he said, shaking her shoulders. “Ash, wake up. Where’s Will? Ash. Ashley.”
He stopped breathing. Leaned closer and pressed an ear to her chest. Silence. The rise and fall of breathing, the constant thump of a heartbeat - gone and replaced with silence. And then Pete did something he’d never done, had never needed to do, had never known he was capable of doing in all his years as a Dandy: he covered his face and dropped to his knees and let out an arid, retching sob. He cried.
A firm hand on his shoulder made him tremble, but he kept his face covered and his head down. “Pete.” Brendon’s voice, somewhat muffled by food. “Something wrong?”
The answer was sitting right there, in the form of Ash’s lifeless body.
“Oh, Pete.” Will rested a hand on his other shoulder, and Pete wished he had the strength to tell them to get the hell off.
“She was a drunk, man,” Brendon said. “It’s not your fault.” But it was, Pete thought. Because everything was his fault. He could have saved her, could have stopped her before it was too late. But he hadn’t and she was dead and he wished he could die too.
“Cheer up,” Will bit out. “It’s not as though you loved her.”
Pete wasn’t sure why these words angered him: because he’d said them himself once before? Because they were a lie - a lie of the most horrible, disgusting kind? Or because they were, in fact, the truth?
His voice was so hollow when he spoke that his words seemed to echo. “On the bright side: I found out his secret.”
Will stiffened. “Did you?”
“Yeah. Shadow Coven. He’s - he’s one of them.”
“No.” Will’s nails dug into his palms, his eyes sown shut to hold back tears. “Damn.”
Brendon - breadcrumbs dotting his lips - patted Will on the back and said, “Go. Find her, man. Before it’s too late.”
And with a final glance at the corpse that was Ash, at the heap of wreckage that was Pete, at the world crumbling right before his eyes - Will gave a rigid nod.
Then he ran.
The town had never seemed so ominous as when he raced through it that night. Buildings loomed over him, and the sound of his feet slapping the concrete bounced back to him like the ticking of a bomb. The moon was full and round and his only guide down the endless avenues.
He found her about half a mile outside of town.
She stood alone, leaning over the rails and peering out at the sparkling bits of moon in the near-black water below. Even in the dark, he could see the gems that were her eyes - though now they seemed tired and sullen.
He moved towards her and took her gently by the shoulders. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Did something happen? How’d you get out here? Are you okay -”
“I know.”
He stopped. Frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I know what he is. What you are. I’ve known from the beginning.”
And Will found himself teetering on the edge of both fear and relief, until the cliffs fell away and left him hanging onto his concern. “Did he hurt you?” he whispered. “Did he put his hands on you?”
“No.”
“Did something happen, Cora?” he demanded. “I swear I’ll hang him, I’ll hang myself if anything happened to you -”
“No.” She shook her head. “He knew that I knew. That I saw what he is. And it scared him. He left. He’s gone.” She covered her face and inhaled. “I know it’s wrong,” she said, “but I don’t care. I don’t care that you’re not alive or that you drink blood or whatever it is that you do. All I care about is - is you.”
So that’s what he’d seen in her eyes - the Sight. She’d known and she’d cared for him anyway.
He took her face in his hands and asked: “Do you love me?”
She said, with a tremulous smile, “I’m afraid so.” And he kissed her without thinking, knowing he could but trusting himself not to hurt her. The moon was the sole witness of this union, and the tastes of poison and passion had never before fused so seamlessly.
Epilogue
The funeral was held a week later.
The town’s finest donned black and pretended to mourn the loss of a girl they never knew. Some people cried, because it was the proper thing to do. Some people shook their heads and said, “Such a shame,” because it was the proper thing to do. There was only one face in the crowd stained with real tears and genuine grief, and that was Pete’s.
Brendon and Will stared at the casket, their expressions perplexed, as though they couldn’t figure out what they were seeing. Cora’s eyes were red and her skin was icier than usual; the veil covering her face hid her cryptic Mona Lisa smile - and the fangs sprouting behind it.
Funerals: such tragic, dark occasions. But with every tragedy came the promise of the brighter days and restless nights to come.