Fic (White Collar): Lost Boy - Part Two
Title: Lost Boy
Author: cookielaura
Artist: cookielaura
Beta: sherylyn
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, Mozzie, Diana, June, Hughes, Sara, El, mention of Ellen, brief past Neal/OC, slight Peter/Neal, very slight Neal/El
Word Count: 21,827 (Part 2: 6,207)
Rating: R
Contains: Mild sexual content; violence including supernatural horror; death of OCs; use of supernatural powers to influence others’ will; attempt to encourage suicide; some of the more minor characters are necessarily darker than in WC
Summary: Neal Caffrey has spent his adult life on the run, leaving a trail of unintentional bodies behind him. When he is discovered by the Fae, a race of supernatural beings, he learns of his true nature as an incubus, and is forced to participate in an ancient and potentially fatal Fae tradition to earn his freedom. Will his new friend Mozzie, and the mysterious Fae cop Peter Burke be able to help him?
Notes: A White Collar/Lost Girl fusion, based closely on the Lost Girl pilot episode; no knowledge of Lost Girl is necessary to read. No Lost Girl spoilers beyond the pilot.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from White Collar or Lost Girl; I’m just playing. I have repurposed some of the original Lost Girl dialogue.
Neal wasn’t sure how long he had been in the back of the van. The crippling headache that had struck him on the street had taken a good few minutes to dissipate, and the gray fog it left behind had clouded his mind for even longer. By the time his faculties had fully returned to him, the van was slowing and Neal had no idea where he was or how far they had traveled. He didn’t even know who had taken him; the man and woman had looked like cops - very attractive cops, but still cops, especially the man - and the metal handcuffs that were holding his wrists behind his back supported that theory, but they had not read him his rights, and he was definitely not in a police car. A small, terrified part of him was wondering if they were some sort of special government unit - if they somehow knew his true nature and he was being shipped off to a laboratory for endless, painful tests. His stomach lurched with the thought, and panic was starting to overtake him when he heard the crunch of gravel underneath the van’s tires, and the vehicle pulled to a stop. As the engine stilled, he strained his ears for the familiar sounds of the city, but all was quiet. Not even a speck of light was penetrating his blindfold, and he felt utterly at a loss.
He heard the front doors of the van open and close, and seconds later the back door ground open, letting in a blast of cold air. Neal shrank back, but strong hands pulled him forward and hoisted him to his feet. In moments he was on the gravel outside, the man on one side of him and the woman on the other, frog-marching him forward to some unknown destination.
Neal did his best to dig his heels in and pull back against his captors, planting himself as firmly as he could on the ground, but their combined strength was more than his own and he found himself skidding forward as they pulled him on. He twisted in their grasp, trying to yank his arms away, but they merely took a tighter grip on him.
“He’s pretty squirmish,” the woman said lightly to her partner, as Neal made another attempt to spin around.
“Let me go,” Neal snarled, his voice loud and echoing in the night air.
“Settle down,” came the man’s voice, but Neal ignored him.
“What the hell kind of cops are you people?” Neal snapped. “And where’s my friend? What did you do to him?” The sudden thought that his new acquaintance might have been hurt - or killed - because of him made Neal’s anger peak and he put all his strength into launching himself backwards.
He felt the woman’s grip on his arm loosen and fall away, but the man grabbed him with both hands and held him still.
“Calm. Down.” The man’s voice was raised, but not cruel, and it was filled with a pure authority and dominance that shot through Neal and made him still, against his better judgement.
“That’s better,” said the man, and he turned Neal back on course. “Your friend will be fine, by the way.”
The anxious knot in Neal’s chest loosened a little at that, but his concern for his own survival remained. With his hands behind his back his powers of touch were lost to him, and thanks to the blindfold he couldn’t even judge where his captor’s faces were in order to launch an attack on their lips. He was completely vulnerable.
“Where are you taking me?” Neal demanded, trying to sound as if he was in control of the situation. “I won’t say anything without a lawyer present. I know my rights.”
He heard a snort from the woman to the right of him. “Is he kidding?” she asked her partner, and Neal’s heart sank. His suspicions were confirmed. There would be no lawyer, no one phone call - these were not the police. They were something worse.
He was about to make another bid for escape when his captors stopped, and he heard a knock on what was presumably a door in front of them. There was a creak as the door swung open almost immediately.
“Yes?” said a deep voice.
“Peter Burke and Diana Berrigan, escorting a captive,” replied the man who was holding Neal. “We have an appointment with The Ash.”
“Who the hell is The Ash?” Neal asked, not really expecting an answer.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the man - Peter - said, and Neal thought he heard some sympathy in his tone.
Strangely, he did not find that reassuring.
-----
Neal had been led down two corridors, up a flight of stairs, around numerous corners and through a doorway before being pushed down firmly onto a wooden chair, his hands still cuffed behind him. As he adjusted to his new position, he felt his male captor lean over him, and he flinched involuntarily. But whoever this Peter Burke was, he didn’t seem to want to hurt him quite yet. Peter’s calloused fingers slipped underneath the thick cotton of the blindfold, lightly grazing Neal’s cheekbones, and lifted the fabric from his head with a surprising lack of roughness.
Neal blinked against the sudden brightness that hit his retinas. He squinted around the room, willing himself to take in his environment as quickly as possible so that he could start orchestrating an escape. However, once he adjusted to the light, his concern was replaced by confusion. This was not what he had expected to find when he opened his eyes. He wasn’t in a laboratory, surrounded by men in white coats ready to dissect him; nor was he in a prison cell encircled by armed guards. He was in what looked very much like a rich gentleman’s private library, and there were only three other people in the room.
The man and the woman who had captured him were standing to one side, in front of a towering bookcase of leather-bound volumes. The woman - Diana, the man had called her - looked only mildly interested by the proceedings, but the man was watching him closely, his eyes sharp. Neal remembered passing him on the street, looking him up and down, appreciating the strong line of his jaw and the shape of his body, the obvious brawn beneath the ill-fitting suit. Neal wondered if Peter had seen the flash of bright blue lust in his eyes, before he had damped it down. He doubted it, and even if Peter had seen it, he wouldn’t have known what it meant. Or so Neal hoped.
To the right of Peter and Diana, directly in front of Neal, was a huge mahogany desk, the wood shining softly in the light cast from the wall lamps. And sitting behind the desk, was the man Neal assumed he had been brought here to see. He was in his sixties, Neal figured, or maybe older; his hair was white and the lines on his face were deep with age, but his eyes were piercing and his tall, slim frame had the bearing of a military man.
Neal let himself take a few deep breaths and tried to relax. This was a situation he could deal with. His best guess was that this wealthy older gentleman had some sort of interest in the supernatural, and that when he had somehow found out about Neal’s powers, he had sent some of his employees to bring him the prize. Neal very much doubted he had any real idea of what he was dealing with. He was about to say as much, when the man spoke.
“Welcome, young man.” His voice sounded anything but welcoming. It was cold and stern, with a barely-disguised curiosity running underneath.
Neal narrowed his eyes. “I’m thrilled to be here,” he said, letting sarcasm positively drip from the words. “Care to explain exactly where here is? Or why I’m here? Or who you happen to be?”
The man’s brows knitted together and he rose from his seat to stand behind the desk, hands clasped behind his back. “There’s no point pretending you don’t know who The Ash is, boy.”
“Okay, Ash, so that’s one question answered,” Neal started. “But -”
“Not Ash,” snapped the older man. “The Ash. It’s a title, not a name, as you well know, and you would do well to show some respect to the head of the New York Light Fae. As for why you’re here, where do I begin? Perhaps with the fact that you failed to make your presence known to the proper officials when you entered the province? Or maybe that you dumped a very obviously Fae kill in our territory without any attempt to conceal it? Which would you like to address first?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Neal said icily. It was his standard response when he was in trouble, but in this case he was telling the truth - he had never heard of The Ash, or whatever the New York Fae were, and he could not even hazard a guess at who the proper officials were that he was supposed to report to. The man in front of him didn’t look crazy - and he had certainly once had enough presence of mind to acquire a fortune large enough to buy the mansion they were sitting in - but right now he sounded certifiable to Neal.
The Ash gritted his teeth and leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk. He looked as though he was barely containing his anger and was not far from physical violence, which was good news for Neal - the closer the man got to him, the more chance Neal had of locking lips with him, and that was surely Neal’s best chance of getting out of here.
“What is your name?” The Ash ground out.
There was little point in hiding his current name - he was sure he’d be searched soon enough and his pack of ID cards would be discovered. “Neal Caffrey,” he said, then shot the man a smile. “But you can call me The Neal Caffrey.”
Neal thought he heard a short laugh from Peter, which was quickly covered with a cough. But The Ash was not amused, and he hissed, drawing back his lips and baring his teeth. His very, very sharp teeth.
Neal shrank back in his chair, his heart leaping into his throat. Those were not natural teeth. He told himself that this was part of the man’s weird obsession with the supernatural, and that he had his teeth filed into points by choice, to look like a vampire. That was, surely, the best explanation. And the inhuman hissing noise he had made… that was just a well-practiced party trick.
“Neal,” The Ash said coldly, his temper under control again. “Light or Dark?”
“Excuse me?” Once again, Neal was lost.
The Ash stepped determinedly around the desk and closer to Neal. “Light. Or. Dark. Answer me.”
Neal cast a questioning glance at Peter and Diana, but they didn’t seem to be inclined to help. He looked back at The Ash. “I would answer you, if I had any idea what you were talking about,” he said, trying to sound as genuine as possible.
The Ash’s lips thinned and Neal had a horrible feeling he was about to hear the hissing noise again. But then Peter spoke.
“Sir? I’m starting to think he’s not faking it.”
The Ash looked over at Peter, and then returned his eyes to Neal, sweeping his gaze up and down Neal’s face. His expression slowly changed from irritation to amazement. He stepped closer again, until he was just a couple of feet or so away from Neal.
“Do you really not know what you are?” he asked.
Neal stared at him. What you are. Could it really be that this strange man, holding court in his wood-paneled library, actually knew more about Neal than he knew about himself? Was this man a freak of nature, just like him?
“What am I, then?” Neal asked, trying to sound casual, trying to keep the years-old desperation unheard.
The Ash leaned down until he was stooped over, his face level with Neal’s, examining him as closely as he could, and Neal realized that his lips were mere inches away. He studied The Ash, saw the minute shake of his head, the questions in his eyes, and made a decision. This man didn’t know anything. Neal’s first instinct had been correct. And Neal’s best bet of ever leaving this house was to attack.
Before he had even finished his thought, he was launching forward, his lips seeking out the lips of The Ash, confident that he would be victorious. But his movement was halted when a flash of gray streaked across his vision and a hard hand slammed into his chest.
It was Peter’s hand. He had moved at a speed Neal had never seen before, slipped between Neal and The Ash and pushed Neal back against the chair. And his face had changed, grown longer and sharper and altogether terrifying, his eyes a vivid green and his teeth the teeth of a snarling wolf. Neal could feel the hot breath on his face, could see the light glinting off the man’s fangs, could feel his own heart constrict in his chest.
He had never been so scared of anything in his life.
“Forget about me,” Neal said, the words catching in his throat. “What the hell are you?”
----
Mozzie slammed the door behind him and made fast work of sliding all four deadbolts into position. This was not the most secure of his safe houses in the city, but it was the nearest to where he and Neal had been attacked, and right now what mattered most was being off the streets - the streets that had suddenly become a lot more dangerous than even Mozzie had previously given them credit for.
He had known, of course, that humans were not alone in the world. There had been too many supernatural sightings over the years, and while some of the people on the internet forums he frequented were quite clearly mad, even by Mozzie’s standards, some of them did have credible stories. Still, although Mozzie had thought he was prepared for an encounter with the unknown, today had been somewhat rattling, especially the last part of it.
Mozzie wasn’t sure how long he had lain on the street, incapacitated, though he vaguely recalled seeing someone step over him casually and continue on their way, no doubt thinking he was drunk. He had no idea how the man and the woman - Feds, he thought, or at least cops - had taken him and Neal down so quickly, and without even touching them, but whatever they had done had left him with a splitting headache and one very urgent thought: that he had to get Neal away from them. Neal had saved him earlier that day; it was time for Mozzie to return the favor.
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and scrolled until he found the number he was looking for, silently congratulating himself not only on his well-cultivated list of contacts, but also on his long-practiced ability to memorize license plates. He just hoped that the van he’d clocked moments before he collapsed would lead him to Neal’s captors.
“Billy?” he said, as his contact picked up. “I need you to trace a plate for me.”
----
Neal felt like he was trying to remember how to breathe, and it was a surprisingly difficult task. Those teeth had been just inches away from him, and one snap of them could have torn out his jugular. Thankfully the encounter had lasted mere seconds; Neal had distantly heard the voice of The Ash saying “Enough!”, and Peter had drawn back, his face returning smoothly to his normal features. Anyone looking at him now would see only a human, with no hint of the animal underneath.
Neal’s thoughts were swirling around his head. He was acutely aware of the danger he was in, being trapped in who-knows-where with an unknown number of what he could only describe as monsters - monsters who thought he had violated some sort of rules that Neal knew nothing about. And if Peter was some sort of wolf-man hybrid, then what were the others? What was The Ash, and Diana, and the others who could be present in the house? But, while his survival instincts screamed at him to get out by any means possible, there was something else bouncing around inside of him. Hope. He wasn’t the only freak in the world; he wasn’t alone. These were terrifying people, but they could very well be his people.
He shifted in his seat, his eyes darting from The Ash to Peter, and back again. Peter was shaking his head slightly at him in reproach, and The Ash had his head tilted slightly to the side, as if he was considering his next move. The older man had just started to open his mouth to speak, when the door to the library swung open, banging into the wall behind it with a clatter that made Neal jump.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the woman who came through it first. She was stunning, with large blue eyes, long dark hair and a white doctor’s coat that did little to disguise her voluptuous figure. Neal sat up straighter. “It’s The Morrigan,” the woman continued. “She insists on being seen.”
Neal started to roll his eyes at what sounded like another ridiculous name - or title - but his disdain was tempered when he saw the woman he assumed must be The Morrigan, who stepped into the room behind the doctor and put one hand on her hip. She too was striking, her auburn hair curling down onto her shoulders, her designer dress all sharp angles and deep purple hues, and her stiletto heels planted determinedly on the floor. She was nothing like The Ash, but she exuded the same sort of power, and The Ash did not look pleased to see her.
“You were not invited,” he said, without a shred of warmth in his voice.
“I know, and I’m hurt,” The Morrigan said sarcastically, not even bothering to glance at The Ash. Her eyes were narrowed and focused entirely on Neal, and Neal wasn’t sure whether to be worried or turned on by her attention. Finally, she finished looking him up and down and turned to The Ash. “Word on the street is that someone’s been improperly dumping kills in your territory.”
“Yes. In our territory.”
“Well, it’d be nice to know if we had a new player in town,” The Morrigan said, walking behind Neal and running a well-manicured finger along his shoulder. Neal pulled away automatically, and she looked down at him in amusement.
“We’ve got everything under control,” The Ash said. “Your help is not required.”
The Morrigan gave an overly dramatic sigh. “And here I was thinking the Light and the Dark were supposed to be on good terms these days. Sharing information, and such. But if you don’t want to play… I can always take him by force.” Her hand returned to Neal’s shoulder, and this time her nails dug in, hard. Neal pulled in a sharp, pained breath through his teeth, and heard Peter give a low, territorial growl.
“No.” The Ash’s voice was utterly commanding, and he placed a hand on Peter’s chest, holding him back. “We will not have any altercations inside this house. The boy needs to be examined more closely - Dr. Mitchell?” The Ash turned to the doctor and gave a nod towards Neal. Then he leveled a stern gaze at The Morrigan. “And you and I need to talk.”
“Examined?” Neal questioned, dread starting to build again as the visions of laboratories and tests that he had entertained earlier came rushing back. “There doesn’t need to be any examining. We can just -”
He was cut off when the woman in the doctor’s coat came and knelt in front of him, putting her hands on his knees and giving him a soft, understanding smile. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be gentle. Will you come with me? Please?”
Neal hesitated, but the warmth in her eyes seemed genuine, and she was the first person to be speak kindly to him since he had been captured. And going with her meant getting out of this chair and perhaps one step closer to freedom.
“Okay,” he said.
-----
Peter watched Diana help the young man out of the wooden chair and lead him out of the room after Dr. Mitchell. As the door closed behind them, Peter felt his head clear a little, as if he was finally breathing fresh air after a long stint inside, and he realized that after an hour of being in Caffrey’s presence, he had become almost drunk on the scent of pheromones that the man was emitting. For a long moment, The Ash and The Morrigan stared after Neal too, and Peter wondered if they could also detect the alluring aroma that lingered behind him. He doubted it; Peter’s senses were more highly developed than most Fae due to his species, and neither of the others had shown any enchantment with Neal. Peter hoped he was keeping his own fascination - and slight arousal - unnoticeable. Still, he could tell his ability to be objective was failing him. Despite the near-impossibility that Neal had grown up without any knowledge of the Fae, he was inclined to believe the kid’s story; there was just something about those blue eyes. And the shock on his face when he had seen Peter’s wolf form begin to break out hadn’t seemed faked.
“We should kill him,” The Morrigan announced, as if she was proposing nothing more important than a change in décor for the library.
Peter tensed, though he should have expected nothing else from the leader of the province’s Dark Fae. Feeling his hackles rise and the wolf inside him fight to get out, he forced himself to take a few deep breaths, and watched carefully for The Ash’s response.
“That seems a little hasty,” said The Ash, pursing his lips and leaning back against the desk. “Not to mention a little unfair, if the boy knows as little as he says. He doesn’t even know who the Fae are; he’s as ignorant as a human.”
The Morrigan tapped her foot impatiently against the polished wooden floor. “You can’t possibly believe him. He’s conning you. He wants to get away with his indiscretions so he’s spinning you a web of lies. The only way it could be true is if he had been deliberately hidden from the Fae since birth, and why would that be?”
The Ash shook his head thoughtfully. “I don’t know. But if the provinces find out we’ve had an unaligned Fae under our noses for years without noticing, we’ll both be a laughingstock.”
“Exactly why we should kill him,” The Morrigan pointed out, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow in a challenge. “He can’t be allowed to exist between the Light and the Dark.”
Peter could not keep quiet any longer. “Let him join a side, then,” he said, keeping his voice low and his eyes down in the required deference to both leaders. “Just because he missed the chance to choose between the factions when he hit puberty doesn’t mean it’s too late.”
The Morrigan shot an irritated look in his direction. “Actually, it does,” she snapped.
The Ash, however, was curving his lips into a slow, contemplative smile. “Not exactly,” he said. “I suggest we make him choose between us - the old way.”
Peter’s jaw dropped. “The trials? Without training? That’s insane.” The trials had been outlawed thousands of years ago, but when they were in use, teenage Fae had trained for years to ensure they would survive the test when they turned eighteen, and even then, many had not. Putting a man into the trials who barely even knew what he was or how to control his powers was madness. It was near murder.
The Morrigan, however, looked happier than she had all night. “Fine,” she said, nodding her agreement at The Ash and then turning on her heel to leave. When she reached the door, she looked back over her shoulder. “With any luck, by morning the problem will no longer exist.”
Peter had a sinking feeling that she meant that by morning, Neal Caffrey would no longer exist.
-----
Neal couldn’t say that sitting naked on a metal table was his idea of a good time, but the doctor, who insisted he call her Elizabeth, had been nothing but sweet to him so far, even frowning at Diana when she insisted on escorting Neal to the lab still cuffed. Elizabeth had refused to examine him while the cuffs remained, and Diana had finally unlocked them and left Neal and the doctor alone. Neal had breathed a sigh of relief and almost given in to his first instinct to use his powers of persuasion on Elizabeth and enlist her help in escaping, but the chance that this doctor could tell him something about himself stopped him. He could wait a few minutes if it provided him with answers, so he had sat quietly and let her take his blood, and a hair sample, and was now doing his best to appear unruffled by the fact that she was standing behind him and running her hands softly and lightly over his back.
“What is it you’re looking for?” he asked, as her fingers slid over his skin and he gave a slight shiver. It was a long time since anyone had touched him like that, a long time since he had allowed anyone to be close to him like this.
The doctor’s hands slid up to the back of his neck and he felt her feel underneath the dark curls at the nape of his neck. “Ritual scarring,” she said, a little absently. “Brands. That sort of thing. The different Fae clans have different ways of marking their offspring. But you have…nothing.”
Her hands dropped away and Neal felt suddenly cold and bereft without her touch. He mentally slapped himself for missing the touch of a doctor who was just doing her job, but he had never experienced this - the touch of someone who knew the danger he posed, and was choosing to allow skin-to-skin contact anyway.
Elizabeth stepped around in front of him and gave him a final scan up and down. She shook her head, something akin to wonderment in her eyes. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured, and then flushed slightly. “I’m sorry. I mean that…professionally, of course.” She gave a small laugh and turned away, rearranging some implements on a nearby tray.
Neal grinned. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s a pretty typical reaction. I seem to have that effect on people.” He gave what he hoped looked like a self-deprecating shrug. “Can’t imagine why.”
Elizabeth laughed properly this time. “Yeah, I’m sure you can’t.”
“May I…?” Neal asked, glancing down at his naked body and then across to the pile of his clothes, neatly folded at the end of the table.
“Oh, yes, of course. Sorry. We’re all done.” Elizabeth turned away again to allow him privacy to dress.
“So,” Neal said, doing his best to sound nonchalant as he finished buttoning his shirt and leaned back against the examination table. “What’s the diagnosis, doc?”
Elizabeth faced him. “Well, you’re definitely Fae, that’s for sure.”
“And Fae is?” Neal asked. Despite his attempts at a casual tone, he could hear the tremor in his voice. He felt a little faint with the thought that this was it, that he was finally going to get the answers he’d been waiting so many years for.
“It’s an evolutionary branch that predates humans,” Elizabeth said. “You might call it…supernatural. There are many different types of Fae.”
“Which type are you?” Neal asked, suddenly realizing that he had no idea if he had just been examined by a vampire, werewolf, or something he didn’t even know yet existed.
“Ah,” Elizabeth said, with a wry grin. “I’m the human doctor type. I’m just here for the science.”
Neal took this in, slightly ashamed that his first thought was that she would be easier to overpower when the time came to escape. “And my friendly captors upstairs?” he asked. “What are they?”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Technically it’s considered rude to ask such questions.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Neal said, pulling out his most charming smile.
Elizabeth sighed. “Okay. The Ash…he’s a vampire. He’s been in charge of the Light Fae here for so long, most Fae don’t even remember another Ash.”
“Does he have a name? A proper name?” Neal asked, trying not to freak out at the confirmation that vampires really did exist.
“Reese Hughes. But you would be wise not to call him that. In fact, you’d be wise to bow your head and address him respectfully at all times. He may be Light, but that doesn’t mean he’s lenient.”
“And Peter and Diana? Have they been around for thousands of years too?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Diana’s a hundred and something, she’s practically a baby. She comes from one of the noble families though, a grand lineage of sirens. She could be Ash one day, if she chooses. Detective Burke though… I’m not sure how old he is. Old, I think. At least a thousand. And…you don’t want to mess with him. He’s a werewolf.”
Neal swallowed hard. A werewolf. He had known the moment Peter’s face had transformed, the moment those teeth had flashed white in front of his eyes, but to hear it said out loud…
“His bark’s worse than his bite, though, right?” he said, jokingly.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”
Neal tried not to think on that too much. “And the woman who came in with you?” he asked. “The Morrigan?”
“Ah, Ms. Ellis. She feeds on creativity, saps the imagination of others to fuel her powers. A vampire of the arts, you could say. She’s the leader of the Dark Fae here.”
Neal gave her a questioning look. “What’s the difference between the Dark and the Light anyway? One’s good and one’s bad?”
“It’s not quite that simple,” Elizabeth said. “And neither of them are too concerned with the welfare of humans, which you might find a little off-putting when you’ve grown up surrounded by them. But the Light at least don’t delight in torturing them.”
Neal let out a long breath. There was so much he didn’t know about his kin. And the more he found out, the less he wanted to be associated with them. There was a part of him that wanted to go on asking the doctor questions all day, and keep avoiding the most important one of all, but he knew he had to face it. He shifted, suddenly feeling more exposed than he had a few minutes ago when he’d been naked.
“So,” he said, steeling himself. “I guess you’d better tell me. What type of Fae am I?”
“Do you want to sit down?” Elizabeth asked, and Neal shook his head, the tension growing.
“No, just tell me. Please.”
“Okay. Well, I examined your kill from the earlier today, and based on your feeding signature, plus everything I saw in your examination… you’re an incubus.”
“An incubus?” The word was vaguely familiar to Neal, though he wasn’t sure where from - horror movies maybe, though he’d never been much into them. “Can you fix it?”
A small, concerned line appeared between the doctor’s eyebrows, and she put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need fixing, sweetie.”
Neal felt a sudden surge of anger. “Really?” he snapped. “Because I’m pretty sure my former lovers would disagree. If they weren’t dead and all.”
Elizabeth’s face fell and the guilt hit Neal immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not your fault. It’s just, I thought…there would be a cure. I thought you’d be able to help me.”
“I can,” the doctor said. “I can’t make you human, but I can help you to control your powers. If you’d been born into a clan, you’d have been taught how as soon as you hit puberty. You’d still have to feed, but you wouldn’t have to kill, if you didn’t want to.”
Neal stared at her. The faces of his victims, every last one of them, were burned into his mind, and the thought that they might be the last, that he could satisfy the hunger inside him without killing…it was almost too much to comprehend.
Elizabeth squeezed his shoulder. “You could have a normal life, Neal.”
Neal swallowed. “There’s a catch, though, right?” There was always a catch. People just didn’t offer help; Neal had learned that.
The doctor sighed and removed her hand from his shoulder. “That’s up to The Ash and The Morrigan. But I’m sure they’d want you to belong to one of their sides before they’d let me offer you any help.”
“I don’t want to belong to either side,” Neal said slowly. “Not if this is the way they treat people. Bundling them off the street into vans. Forcing them into medical examinations. It’s hardly polite.”
Elizabeth shrugged helplessly, and Neal knew what he had to do. He hoped she would forgive him.
He reached out and took one of her hands in his, smoothing the pad of his thumb across her palm. The gentle surge of blue light blossomed across her skin, and he felt rather than heard her intake of breath.
“We could get out of here,” he said softly. “You could teach me about my powers, and I could teach you things too.”
Elizabeth had been staring down at their entwined hands, but now she raised her gaze to meet his. Her eyes held the desire that Neal was so accustomed to seeing, but there was a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I know what you’re doing,” she said simply.
Neal stopped rubbing her hand and held it still. “Do you want me to stop?”
For a moment the room fell silent, and Neal could feel the pulse in the doctor’s wrist beating quickly under his fingers. Then Elizabeth spoke.
“No.”
-----
“I don’t like this,” Diana muttered, folding her arms. Peter had filled her in on the plan to put Caffrey through the trials, and despite the fact that Diana hadn’t seemed particularly impressed with the young man, she was still firmly against the idea.
Peter blew out an irritated breath. “Yeah, well, it’s not up to us to like it.” He wasn’t foolish enough to think that either he or Diana had much pull with The Ash when he had made up his mind.
“But -” Diana started, but Peter held up a hand to stop her. He could hear footsteps approaching the door they were standing in front of.
“We’ve got company,” he said, and moments later the door to the examination room swung open, revealing two sets of bright blue eyes, both of them looking startled to see him.
Peter gave Caffrey and the doctor a crooked smile. “You didn’t think we’d leave you unsupervised in there, did you?”
Neal scowled at him. “A guy can dream.”
Peter held up his handcuffs with one hand and made a swiveling motion with his finger, and Neal reluctantly turned and put his hands behind his back, throwing another dark look over his shoulder as Peter closed the cuffs around his wrists.
“Sorry,” Peter heard Neal murmur to Dr. Mitchell, who was looking a little flushed. The blush suited her, Peter thought, then damped the thought down - he couldn’t say he had never noticed Elizabeth, but she was human, and out of bounds.
“No, no, it’s fine,” she said, sounding flustered. “It was informative. For my studies. Hands on experience.”
“Hands on?” Peter asked her, tightening the cuffs a little.
“He’s an incubus,” she said, by way of explanation, and everything became clear. Peter had never encountered an incubus or a succubus before - they were rare - but he’d heard about them, and knew of their powers of seduction by touch, and their need to consume sexual energy to survive. Of course Caffrey was an incubus; it explained the nature of the kill, and, thankfully, Peter’s reaction to him. It was a relief to be able to blame his involuntary arousal on nothing more than Caffrey’s species.
“Where are you taking him?” the doctor asked as Peter swung Caffrey around and directed him forward, with Diana taking up position on the other side of him.
“Schinasi,” Peter replied, glancing back at Dr Mitchell.
She frowned, confused. “You’re taking him for a drink in handcuffs?”
“The cellars of Schinasi,” Peter clarified. “It’s neutral territory. They’re giving him the trials.”
He saw the look of shock on her face, quickly giving way to horror.
“But that’s…” she began, then trailed off.
“I know,” Peter said grimly.
Author: cookielaura
Artist: cookielaura
Beta: sherylyn
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, Mozzie, Diana, June, Hughes, Sara, El, mention of Ellen, brief past Neal/OC, slight Peter/Neal, very slight Neal/El
Word Count: 21,827 (Part 2: 6,207)
Rating: R
Contains: Mild sexual content; violence including supernatural horror; death of OCs; use of supernatural powers to influence others’ will; attempt to encourage suicide; some of the more minor characters are necessarily darker than in WC
Summary: Neal Caffrey has spent his adult life on the run, leaving a trail of unintentional bodies behind him. When he is discovered by the Fae, a race of supernatural beings, he learns of his true nature as an incubus, and is forced to participate in an ancient and potentially fatal Fae tradition to earn his freedom. Will his new friend Mozzie, and the mysterious Fae cop Peter Burke be able to help him?
Notes: A White Collar/Lost Girl fusion, based closely on the Lost Girl pilot episode; no knowledge of Lost Girl is necessary to read. No Lost Girl spoilers beyond the pilot.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything from White Collar or Lost Girl; I’m just playing. I have repurposed some of the original Lost Girl dialogue.
Neal wasn’t sure how long he had been in the back of the van. The crippling headache that had struck him on the street had taken a good few minutes to dissipate, and the gray fog it left behind had clouded his mind for even longer. By the time his faculties had fully returned to him, the van was slowing and Neal had no idea where he was or how far they had traveled. He didn’t even know who had taken him; the man and woman had looked like cops - very attractive cops, but still cops, especially the man - and the metal handcuffs that were holding his wrists behind his back supported that theory, but they had not read him his rights, and he was definitely not in a police car. A small, terrified part of him was wondering if they were some sort of special government unit - if they somehow knew his true nature and he was being shipped off to a laboratory for endless, painful tests. His stomach lurched with the thought, and panic was starting to overtake him when he heard the crunch of gravel underneath the van’s tires, and the vehicle pulled to a stop. As the engine stilled, he strained his ears for the familiar sounds of the city, but all was quiet. Not even a speck of light was penetrating his blindfold, and he felt utterly at a loss.
He heard the front doors of the van open and close, and seconds later the back door ground open, letting in a blast of cold air. Neal shrank back, but strong hands pulled him forward and hoisted him to his feet. In moments he was on the gravel outside, the man on one side of him and the woman on the other, frog-marching him forward to some unknown destination.
Neal did his best to dig his heels in and pull back against his captors, planting himself as firmly as he could on the ground, but their combined strength was more than his own and he found himself skidding forward as they pulled him on. He twisted in their grasp, trying to yank his arms away, but they merely took a tighter grip on him.
“He’s pretty squirmish,” the woman said lightly to her partner, as Neal made another attempt to spin around.
“Let me go,” Neal snarled, his voice loud and echoing in the night air.
“Settle down,” came the man’s voice, but Neal ignored him.
“What the hell kind of cops are you people?” Neal snapped. “And where’s my friend? What did you do to him?” The sudden thought that his new acquaintance might have been hurt - or killed - because of him made Neal’s anger peak and he put all his strength into launching himself backwards.
He felt the woman’s grip on his arm loosen and fall away, but the man grabbed him with both hands and held him still.
“Calm. Down.” The man’s voice was raised, but not cruel, and it was filled with a pure authority and dominance that shot through Neal and made him still, against his better judgement.
“That’s better,” said the man, and he turned Neal back on course. “Your friend will be fine, by the way.”
The anxious knot in Neal’s chest loosened a little at that, but his concern for his own survival remained. With his hands behind his back his powers of touch were lost to him, and thanks to the blindfold he couldn’t even judge where his captor’s faces were in order to launch an attack on their lips. He was completely vulnerable.
“Where are you taking me?” Neal demanded, trying to sound as if he was in control of the situation. “I won’t say anything without a lawyer present. I know my rights.”
He heard a snort from the woman to the right of him. “Is he kidding?” she asked her partner, and Neal’s heart sank. His suspicions were confirmed. There would be no lawyer, no one phone call - these were not the police. They were something worse.
He was about to make another bid for escape when his captors stopped, and he heard a knock on what was presumably a door in front of them. There was a creak as the door swung open almost immediately.
“Yes?” said a deep voice.
“Peter Burke and Diana Berrigan, escorting a captive,” replied the man who was holding Neal. “We have an appointment with The Ash.”
“Who the hell is The Ash?” Neal asked, not really expecting an answer.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the man - Peter - said, and Neal thought he heard some sympathy in his tone.
Strangely, he did not find that reassuring.
-----
Neal had been led down two corridors, up a flight of stairs, around numerous corners and through a doorway before being pushed down firmly onto a wooden chair, his hands still cuffed behind him. As he adjusted to his new position, he felt his male captor lean over him, and he flinched involuntarily. But whoever this Peter Burke was, he didn’t seem to want to hurt him quite yet. Peter’s calloused fingers slipped underneath the thick cotton of the blindfold, lightly grazing Neal’s cheekbones, and lifted the fabric from his head with a surprising lack of roughness.
Neal blinked against the sudden brightness that hit his retinas. He squinted around the room, willing himself to take in his environment as quickly as possible so that he could start orchestrating an escape. However, once he adjusted to the light, his concern was replaced by confusion. This was not what he had expected to find when he opened his eyes. He wasn’t in a laboratory, surrounded by men in white coats ready to dissect him; nor was he in a prison cell encircled by armed guards. He was in what looked very much like a rich gentleman’s private library, and there were only three other people in the room.
The man and the woman who had captured him were standing to one side, in front of a towering bookcase of leather-bound volumes. The woman - Diana, the man had called her - looked only mildly interested by the proceedings, but the man was watching him closely, his eyes sharp. Neal remembered passing him on the street, looking him up and down, appreciating the strong line of his jaw and the shape of his body, the obvious brawn beneath the ill-fitting suit. Neal wondered if Peter had seen the flash of bright blue lust in his eyes, before he had damped it down. He doubted it, and even if Peter had seen it, he wouldn’t have known what it meant. Or so Neal hoped.
To the right of Peter and Diana, directly in front of Neal, was a huge mahogany desk, the wood shining softly in the light cast from the wall lamps. And sitting behind the desk, was the man Neal assumed he had been brought here to see. He was in his sixties, Neal figured, or maybe older; his hair was white and the lines on his face were deep with age, but his eyes were piercing and his tall, slim frame had the bearing of a military man.
Neal let himself take a few deep breaths and tried to relax. This was a situation he could deal with. His best guess was that this wealthy older gentleman had some sort of interest in the supernatural, and that when he had somehow found out about Neal’s powers, he had sent some of his employees to bring him the prize. Neal very much doubted he had any real idea of what he was dealing with. He was about to say as much, when the man spoke.
“Welcome, young man.” His voice sounded anything but welcoming. It was cold and stern, with a barely-disguised curiosity running underneath.
Neal narrowed his eyes. “I’m thrilled to be here,” he said, letting sarcasm positively drip from the words. “Care to explain exactly where here is? Or why I’m here? Or who you happen to be?”
The man’s brows knitted together and he rose from his seat to stand behind the desk, hands clasped behind his back. “There’s no point pretending you don’t know who The Ash is, boy.”
“Okay, Ash, so that’s one question answered,” Neal started. “But -”
“Not Ash,” snapped the older man. “The Ash. It’s a title, not a name, as you well know, and you would do well to show some respect to the head of the New York Light Fae. As for why you’re here, where do I begin? Perhaps with the fact that you failed to make your presence known to the proper officials when you entered the province? Or maybe that you dumped a very obviously Fae kill in our territory without any attempt to conceal it? Which would you like to address first?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Neal said icily. It was his standard response when he was in trouble, but in this case he was telling the truth - he had never heard of The Ash, or whatever the New York Fae were, and he could not even hazard a guess at who the proper officials were that he was supposed to report to. The man in front of him didn’t look crazy - and he had certainly once had enough presence of mind to acquire a fortune large enough to buy the mansion they were sitting in - but right now he sounded certifiable to Neal.
The Ash gritted his teeth and leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk. He looked as though he was barely containing his anger and was not far from physical violence, which was good news for Neal - the closer the man got to him, the more chance Neal had of locking lips with him, and that was surely Neal’s best chance of getting out of here.
“What is your name?” The Ash ground out.
There was little point in hiding his current name - he was sure he’d be searched soon enough and his pack of ID cards would be discovered. “Neal Caffrey,” he said, then shot the man a smile. “But you can call me The Neal Caffrey.”
Neal thought he heard a short laugh from Peter, which was quickly covered with a cough. But The Ash was not amused, and he hissed, drawing back his lips and baring his teeth. His very, very sharp teeth.
Neal shrank back in his chair, his heart leaping into his throat. Those were not natural teeth. He told himself that this was part of the man’s weird obsession with the supernatural, and that he had his teeth filed into points by choice, to look like a vampire. That was, surely, the best explanation. And the inhuman hissing noise he had made… that was just a well-practiced party trick.
“Neal,” The Ash said coldly, his temper under control again. “Light or Dark?”
“Excuse me?” Once again, Neal was lost.
The Ash stepped determinedly around the desk and closer to Neal. “Light. Or. Dark. Answer me.”
Neal cast a questioning glance at Peter and Diana, but they didn’t seem to be inclined to help. He looked back at The Ash. “I would answer you, if I had any idea what you were talking about,” he said, trying to sound as genuine as possible.
The Ash’s lips thinned and Neal had a horrible feeling he was about to hear the hissing noise again. But then Peter spoke.
“Sir? I’m starting to think he’s not faking it.”
The Ash looked over at Peter, and then returned his eyes to Neal, sweeping his gaze up and down Neal’s face. His expression slowly changed from irritation to amazement. He stepped closer again, until he was just a couple of feet or so away from Neal.
“Do you really not know what you are?” he asked.
Neal stared at him. What you are. Could it really be that this strange man, holding court in his wood-paneled library, actually knew more about Neal than he knew about himself? Was this man a freak of nature, just like him?
“What am I, then?” Neal asked, trying to sound casual, trying to keep the years-old desperation unheard.
The Ash leaned down until he was stooped over, his face level with Neal’s, examining him as closely as he could, and Neal realized that his lips were mere inches away. He studied The Ash, saw the minute shake of his head, the questions in his eyes, and made a decision. This man didn’t know anything. Neal’s first instinct had been correct. And Neal’s best bet of ever leaving this house was to attack.
Before he had even finished his thought, he was launching forward, his lips seeking out the lips of The Ash, confident that he would be victorious. But his movement was halted when a flash of gray streaked across his vision and a hard hand slammed into his chest.
It was Peter’s hand. He had moved at a speed Neal had never seen before, slipped between Neal and The Ash and pushed Neal back against the chair. And his face had changed, grown longer and sharper and altogether terrifying, his eyes a vivid green and his teeth the teeth of a snarling wolf. Neal could feel the hot breath on his face, could see the light glinting off the man’s fangs, could feel his own heart constrict in his chest.
He had never been so scared of anything in his life.
“Forget about me,” Neal said, the words catching in his throat. “What the hell are you?”
----
Mozzie slammed the door behind him and made fast work of sliding all four deadbolts into position. This was not the most secure of his safe houses in the city, but it was the nearest to where he and Neal had been attacked, and right now what mattered most was being off the streets - the streets that had suddenly become a lot more dangerous than even Mozzie had previously given them credit for.
He had known, of course, that humans were not alone in the world. There had been too many supernatural sightings over the years, and while some of the people on the internet forums he frequented were quite clearly mad, even by Mozzie’s standards, some of them did have credible stories. Still, although Mozzie had thought he was prepared for an encounter with the unknown, today had been somewhat rattling, especially the last part of it.
Mozzie wasn’t sure how long he had lain on the street, incapacitated, though he vaguely recalled seeing someone step over him casually and continue on their way, no doubt thinking he was drunk. He had no idea how the man and the woman - Feds, he thought, or at least cops - had taken him and Neal down so quickly, and without even touching them, but whatever they had done had left him with a splitting headache and one very urgent thought: that he had to get Neal away from them. Neal had saved him earlier that day; it was time for Mozzie to return the favor.
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and scrolled until he found the number he was looking for, silently congratulating himself not only on his well-cultivated list of contacts, but also on his long-practiced ability to memorize license plates. He just hoped that the van he’d clocked moments before he collapsed would lead him to Neal’s captors.
“Billy?” he said, as his contact picked up. “I need you to trace a plate for me.”
----
Neal felt like he was trying to remember how to breathe, and it was a surprisingly difficult task. Those teeth had been just inches away from him, and one snap of them could have torn out his jugular. Thankfully the encounter had lasted mere seconds; Neal had distantly heard the voice of The Ash saying “Enough!”, and Peter had drawn back, his face returning smoothly to his normal features. Anyone looking at him now would see only a human, with no hint of the animal underneath.
Neal’s thoughts were swirling around his head. He was acutely aware of the danger he was in, being trapped in who-knows-where with an unknown number of what he could only describe as monsters - monsters who thought he had violated some sort of rules that Neal knew nothing about. And if Peter was some sort of wolf-man hybrid, then what were the others? What was The Ash, and Diana, and the others who could be present in the house? But, while his survival instincts screamed at him to get out by any means possible, there was something else bouncing around inside of him. Hope. He wasn’t the only freak in the world; he wasn’t alone. These were terrifying people, but they could very well be his people.
He shifted in his seat, his eyes darting from The Ash to Peter, and back again. Peter was shaking his head slightly at him in reproach, and The Ash had his head tilted slightly to the side, as if he was considering his next move. The older man had just started to open his mouth to speak, when the door to the library swung open, banging into the wall behind it with a clatter that made Neal jump.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the woman who came through it first. She was stunning, with large blue eyes, long dark hair and a white doctor’s coat that did little to disguise her voluptuous figure. Neal sat up straighter. “It’s The Morrigan,” the woman continued. “She insists on being seen.”
Neal started to roll his eyes at what sounded like another ridiculous name - or title - but his disdain was tempered when he saw the woman he assumed must be The Morrigan, who stepped into the room behind the doctor and put one hand on her hip. She too was striking, her auburn hair curling down onto her shoulders, her designer dress all sharp angles and deep purple hues, and her stiletto heels planted determinedly on the floor. She was nothing like The Ash, but she exuded the same sort of power, and The Ash did not look pleased to see her.
“You were not invited,” he said, without a shred of warmth in his voice.
“I know, and I’m hurt,” The Morrigan said sarcastically, not even bothering to glance at The Ash. Her eyes were narrowed and focused entirely on Neal, and Neal wasn’t sure whether to be worried or turned on by her attention. Finally, she finished looking him up and down and turned to The Ash. “Word on the street is that someone’s been improperly dumping kills in your territory.”
“Yes. In our territory.”
“Well, it’d be nice to know if we had a new player in town,” The Morrigan said, walking behind Neal and running a well-manicured finger along his shoulder. Neal pulled away automatically, and she looked down at him in amusement.
“We’ve got everything under control,” The Ash said. “Your help is not required.”
The Morrigan gave an overly dramatic sigh. “And here I was thinking the Light and the Dark were supposed to be on good terms these days. Sharing information, and such. But if you don’t want to play… I can always take him by force.” Her hand returned to Neal’s shoulder, and this time her nails dug in, hard. Neal pulled in a sharp, pained breath through his teeth, and heard Peter give a low, territorial growl.
“No.” The Ash’s voice was utterly commanding, and he placed a hand on Peter’s chest, holding him back. “We will not have any altercations inside this house. The boy needs to be examined more closely - Dr. Mitchell?” The Ash turned to the doctor and gave a nod towards Neal. Then he leveled a stern gaze at The Morrigan. “And you and I need to talk.”
“Examined?” Neal questioned, dread starting to build again as the visions of laboratories and tests that he had entertained earlier came rushing back. “There doesn’t need to be any examining. We can just -”
He was cut off when the woman in the doctor’s coat came and knelt in front of him, putting her hands on his knees and giving him a soft, understanding smile. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be gentle. Will you come with me? Please?”
Neal hesitated, but the warmth in her eyes seemed genuine, and she was the first person to be speak kindly to him since he had been captured. And going with her meant getting out of this chair and perhaps one step closer to freedom.
“Okay,” he said.
-----
Peter watched Diana help the young man out of the wooden chair and lead him out of the room after Dr. Mitchell. As the door closed behind them, Peter felt his head clear a little, as if he was finally breathing fresh air after a long stint inside, and he realized that after an hour of being in Caffrey’s presence, he had become almost drunk on the scent of pheromones that the man was emitting. For a long moment, The Ash and The Morrigan stared after Neal too, and Peter wondered if they could also detect the alluring aroma that lingered behind him. He doubted it; Peter’s senses were more highly developed than most Fae due to his species, and neither of the others had shown any enchantment with Neal. Peter hoped he was keeping his own fascination - and slight arousal - unnoticeable. Still, he could tell his ability to be objective was failing him. Despite the near-impossibility that Neal had grown up without any knowledge of the Fae, he was inclined to believe the kid’s story; there was just something about those blue eyes. And the shock on his face when he had seen Peter’s wolf form begin to break out hadn’t seemed faked.
“We should kill him,” The Morrigan announced, as if she was proposing nothing more important than a change in décor for the library.
Peter tensed, though he should have expected nothing else from the leader of the province’s Dark Fae. Feeling his hackles rise and the wolf inside him fight to get out, he forced himself to take a few deep breaths, and watched carefully for The Ash’s response.
“That seems a little hasty,” said The Ash, pursing his lips and leaning back against the desk. “Not to mention a little unfair, if the boy knows as little as he says. He doesn’t even know who the Fae are; he’s as ignorant as a human.”
The Morrigan tapped her foot impatiently against the polished wooden floor. “You can’t possibly believe him. He’s conning you. He wants to get away with his indiscretions so he’s spinning you a web of lies. The only way it could be true is if he had been deliberately hidden from the Fae since birth, and why would that be?”
The Ash shook his head thoughtfully. “I don’t know. But if the provinces find out we’ve had an unaligned Fae under our noses for years without noticing, we’ll both be a laughingstock.”
“Exactly why we should kill him,” The Morrigan pointed out, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow in a challenge. “He can’t be allowed to exist between the Light and the Dark.”
Peter could not keep quiet any longer. “Let him join a side, then,” he said, keeping his voice low and his eyes down in the required deference to both leaders. “Just because he missed the chance to choose between the factions when he hit puberty doesn’t mean it’s too late.”
The Morrigan shot an irritated look in his direction. “Actually, it does,” she snapped.
The Ash, however, was curving his lips into a slow, contemplative smile. “Not exactly,” he said. “I suggest we make him choose between us - the old way.”
Peter’s jaw dropped. “The trials? Without training? That’s insane.” The trials had been outlawed thousands of years ago, but when they were in use, teenage Fae had trained for years to ensure they would survive the test when they turned eighteen, and even then, many had not. Putting a man into the trials who barely even knew what he was or how to control his powers was madness. It was near murder.
The Morrigan, however, looked happier than she had all night. “Fine,” she said, nodding her agreement at The Ash and then turning on her heel to leave. When she reached the door, she looked back over her shoulder. “With any luck, by morning the problem will no longer exist.”
Peter had a sinking feeling that she meant that by morning, Neal Caffrey would no longer exist.
-----
Neal couldn’t say that sitting naked on a metal table was his idea of a good time, but the doctor, who insisted he call her Elizabeth, had been nothing but sweet to him so far, even frowning at Diana when she insisted on escorting Neal to the lab still cuffed. Elizabeth had refused to examine him while the cuffs remained, and Diana had finally unlocked them and left Neal and the doctor alone. Neal had breathed a sigh of relief and almost given in to his first instinct to use his powers of persuasion on Elizabeth and enlist her help in escaping, but the chance that this doctor could tell him something about himself stopped him. He could wait a few minutes if it provided him with answers, so he had sat quietly and let her take his blood, and a hair sample, and was now doing his best to appear unruffled by the fact that she was standing behind him and running her hands softly and lightly over his back.
“What is it you’re looking for?” he asked, as her fingers slid over his skin and he gave a slight shiver. It was a long time since anyone had touched him like that, a long time since he had allowed anyone to be close to him like this.
The doctor’s hands slid up to the back of his neck and he felt her feel underneath the dark curls at the nape of his neck. “Ritual scarring,” she said, a little absently. “Brands. That sort of thing. The different Fae clans have different ways of marking their offspring. But you have…nothing.”
Her hands dropped away and Neal felt suddenly cold and bereft without her touch. He mentally slapped himself for missing the touch of a doctor who was just doing her job, but he had never experienced this - the touch of someone who knew the danger he posed, and was choosing to allow skin-to-skin contact anyway.
Elizabeth stepped around in front of him and gave him a final scan up and down. She shook her head, something akin to wonderment in her eyes. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured, and then flushed slightly. “I’m sorry. I mean that…professionally, of course.” She gave a small laugh and turned away, rearranging some implements on a nearby tray.
Neal grinned. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s a pretty typical reaction. I seem to have that effect on people.” He gave what he hoped looked like a self-deprecating shrug. “Can’t imagine why.”
Elizabeth laughed properly this time. “Yeah, I’m sure you can’t.”
“May I…?” Neal asked, glancing down at his naked body and then across to the pile of his clothes, neatly folded at the end of the table.
“Oh, yes, of course. Sorry. We’re all done.” Elizabeth turned away again to allow him privacy to dress.
“So,” Neal said, doing his best to sound nonchalant as he finished buttoning his shirt and leaned back against the examination table. “What’s the diagnosis, doc?”
Elizabeth faced him. “Well, you’re definitely Fae, that’s for sure.”
“And Fae is?” Neal asked. Despite his attempts at a casual tone, he could hear the tremor in his voice. He felt a little faint with the thought that this was it, that he was finally going to get the answers he’d been waiting so many years for.
“It’s an evolutionary branch that predates humans,” Elizabeth said. “You might call it…supernatural. There are many different types of Fae.”
“Which type are you?” Neal asked, suddenly realizing that he had no idea if he had just been examined by a vampire, werewolf, or something he didn’t even know yet existed.
“Ah,” Elizabeth said, with a wry grin. “I’m the human doctor type. I’m just here for the science.”
Neal took this in, slightly ashamed that his first thought was that she would be easier to overpower when the time came to escape. “And my friendly captors upstairs?” he asked. “What are they?”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Technically it’s considered rude to ask such questions.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Neal said, pulling out his most charming smile.
Elizabeth sighed. “Okay. The Ash…he’s a vampire. He’s been in charge of the Light Fae here for so long, most Fae don’t even remember another Ash.”
“Does he have a name? A proper name?” Neal asked, trying not to freak out at the confirmation that vampires really did exist.
“Reese Hughes. But you would be wise not to call him that. In fact, you’d be wise to bow your head and address him respectfully at all times. He may be Light, but that doesn’t mean he’s lenient.”
“And Peter and Diana? Have they been around for thousands of years too?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Diana’s a hundred and something, she’s practically a baby. She comes from one of the noble families though, a grand lineage of sirens. She could be Ash one day, if she chooses. Detective Burke though… I’m not sure how old he is. Old, I think. At least a thousand. And…you don’t want to mess with him. He’s a werewolf.”
Neal swallowed hard. A werewolf. He had known the moment Peter’s face had transformed, the moment those teeth had flashed white in front of his eyes, but to hear it said out loud…
“His bark’s worse than his bite, though, right?” he said, jokingly.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”
Neal tried not to think on that too much. “And the woman who came in with you?” he asked. “The Morrigan?”
“Ah, Ms. Ellis. She feeds on creativity, saps the imagination of others to fuel her powers. A vampire of the arts, you could say. She’s the leader of the Dark Fae here.”
Neal gave her a questioning look. “What’s the difference between the Dark and the Light anyway? One’s good and one’s bad?”
“It’s not quite that simple,” Elizabeth said. “And neither of them are too concerned with the welfare of humans, which you might find a little off-putting when you’ve grown up surrounded by them. But the Light at least don’t delight in torturing them.”
Neal let out a long breath. There was so much he didn’t know about his kin. And the more he found out, the less he wanted to be associated with them. There was a part of him that wanted to go on asking the doctor questions all day, and keep avoiding the most important one of all, but he knew he had to face it. He shifted, suddenly feeling more exposed than he had a few minutes ago when he’d been naked.
“So,” he said, steeling himself. “I guess you’d better tell me. What type of Fae am I?”
“Do you want to sit down?” Elizabeth asked, and Neal shook his head, the tension growing.
“No, just tell me. Please.”
“Okay. Well, I examined your kill from the earlier today, and based on your feeding signature, plus everything I saw in your examination… you’re an incubus.”
“An incubus?” The word was vaguely familiar to Neal, though he wasn’t sure where from - horror movies maybe, though he’d never been much into them. “Can you fix it?”
A small, concerned line appeared between the doctor’s eyebrows, and she put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need fixing, sweetie.”
Neal felt a sudden surge of anger. “Really?” he snapped. “Because I’m pretty sure my former lovers would disagree. If they weren’t dead and all.”
Elizabeth’s face fell and the guilt hit Neal immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not your fault. It’s just, I thought…there would be a cure. I thought you’d be able to help me.”
“I can,” the doctor said. “I can’t make you human, but I can help you to control your powers. If you’d been born into a clan, you’d have been taught how as soon as you hit puberty. You’d still have to feed, but you wouldn’t have to kill, if you didn’t want to.”
Neal stared at her. The faces of his victims, every last one of them, were burned into his mind, and the thought that they might be the last, that he could satisfy the hunger inside him without killing…it was almost too much to comprehend.
Elizabeth squeezed his shoulder. “You could have a normal life, Neal.”
Neal swallowed. “There’s a catch, though, right?” There was always a catch. People just didn’t offer help; Neal had learned that.
The doctor sighed and removed her hand from his shoulder. “That’s up to The Ash and The Morrigan. But I’m sure they’d want you to belong to one of their sides before they’d let me offer you any help.”
“I don’t want to belong to either side,” Neal said slowly. “Not if this is the way they treat people. Bundling them off the street into vans. Forcing them into medical examinations. It’s hardly polite.”
Elizabeth shrugged helplessly, and Neal knew what he had to do. He hoped she would forgive him.
He reached out and took one of her hands in his, smoothing the pad of his thumb across her palm. The gentle surge of blue light blossomed across her skin, and he felt rather than heard her intake of breath.
“We could get out of here,” he said softly. “You could teach me about my powers, and I could teach you things too.”
Elizabeth had been staring down at their entwined hands, but now she raised her gaze to meet his. Her eyes held the desire that Neal was so accustomed to seeing, but there was a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I know what you’re doing,” she said simply.
Neal stopped rubbing her hand and held it still. “Do you want me to stop?”
For a moment the room fell silent, and Neal could feel the pulse in the doctor’s wrist beating quickly under his fingers. Then Elizabeth spoke.
“No.”
-----
“I don’t like this,” Diana muttered, folding her arms. Peter had filled her in on the plan to put Caffrey through the trials, and despite the fact that Diana hadn’t seemed particularly impressed with the young man, she was still firmly against the idea.
Peter blew out an irritated breath. “Yeah, well, it’s not up to us to like it.” He wasn’t foolish enough to think that either he or Diana had much pull with The Ash when he had made up his mind.
“But -” Diana started, but Peter held up a hand to stop her. He could hear footsteps approaching the door they were standing in front of.
“We’ve got company,” he said, and moments later the door to the examination room swung open, revealing two sets of bright blue eyes, both of them looking startled to see him.
Peter gave Caffrey and the doctor a crooked smile. “You didn’t think we’d leave you unsupervised in there, did you?”
Neal scowled at him. “A guy can dream.”
Peter held up his handcuffs with one hand and made a swiveling motion with his finger, and Neal reluctantly turned and put his hands behind his back, throwing another dark look over his shoulder as Peter closed the cuffs around his wrists.
“Sorry,” Peter heard Neal murmur to Dr. Mitchell, who was looking a little flushed. The blush suited her, Peter thought, then damped the thought down - he couldn’t say he had never noticed Elizabeth, but she was human, and out of bounds.
“No, no, it’s fine,” she said, sounding flustered. “It was informative. For my studies. Hands on experience.”
“Hands on?” Peter asked her, tightening the cuffs a little.
“He’s an incubus,” she said, by way of explanation, and everything became clear. Peter had never encountered an incubus or a succubus before - they were rare - but he’d heard about them, and knew of their powers of seduction by touch, and their need to consume sexual energy to survive. Of course Caffrey was an incubus; it explained the nature of the kill, and, thankfully, Peter’s reaction to him. It was a relief to be able to blame his involuntary arousal on nothing more than Caffrey’s species.
“Where are you taking him?” the doctor asked as Peter swung Caffrey around and directed him forward, with Diana taking up position on the other side of him.
“Schinasi,” Peter replied, glancing back at Dr Mitchell.
She frowned, confused. “You’re taking him for a drink in handcuffs?”
“The cellars of Schinasi,” Peter clarified. “It’s neutral territory. They’re giving him the trials.”
He saw the look of shock on her face, quickly giving way to horror.
“But that’s…” she began, then trailed off.
“I know,” Peter said grimly.