[fic] The Boy with the Sigil Tattoo 3/3

[keire_ke]

There was no time to panic. There was ample cause to panic. Erik clenched his fists and walked, forcing himself to go slowly, even though Moira was yelling at him to stop, which he did only to pick up Charles’ backpack.

He was going to find Shaw and he was going to rip his spine out and then he was going to fry the remains in the midday sun, and fertilise his fern with the ashes. He would get a bloody fern just for that purpose and he would keep and coddle it and call it Sebby.

Problem: he didn’t know where Shaw was hiding.

Small problem. He could tear buildings apart.

Bigger problem: that would take time.

Biggest problem: Charles was alive and therefore fragile. He might not have the time.

Erik began his search by zipping across town, to the attic where he’d been interrogated. It was empty. The sad little knot was still hanging from the support beam. The only change was the vivid red stain right below, which someone used to scrawl a very untidy message.

Come to the museum, they have art!!!

Well, on some level it was heartening. It implied tonight was a garlic soup night, not a nuke ‘em night.

It was nearly midnight when Erik started circling the town’s museums. He ruled out the modern art from the get-go – Shaw had very conservative views on what constituted art. For the same reason he skipped the museum of natural history and technology. It spoke volumes about Shaw that in the age when technology developed at the drop of a hat he would choose to wallow in the long-dead classics, ignoring the former completely.

Finally, around two in the morning, Erik broke the lock of a small house, dedicated to displaying the works of some hack of a writer in its original setting. There was no blood in the air. Most people would relax. Sadly Erik was very much aware how easy it was to cause excruciating pain without drawing a drop of blood.

On the bright side, he could smell Charles. He’d been here. He was here. So were Shaw and Azazel, but Charles was there and he wasn’t bleeding. That was a promising start.

Erik patted the backpack for a weapon and came up with the lighter. Uncomfortable, when it seemed capable of incinerating a vampire on the spot, but again, Shaw was a vampire. Being on fire couldn’t hurt that bad, Erik thought as he advanced through the darkness, to where his nose was leading him. Charles was there, in the attic, unharmed for the time being. Charles, Shaw, Azazel and cheesecake.

What.

Erik pushed the door open and found himself speechless.

“Erik!” Charles said with the brightest smile anyone has ever directed at him, alive or dead. It might have been aided by his addition of, “I was getting worried.”

“What?” Erik managed, taking in the lacy cloth on the table, the fine china and the exquisite strawberry cheesecake, sitting on a crystal plateau.

“Do join us, my boy,” Sebastian said, gesturing to the empty chair. “Care for some blood?”

“You are not touching Charles,” Erik growled, unconsciously shifting into his vampire face.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Shaw took the cosy off one of the two teapots, poured a cup and held it out in Erik’s direction.

It was blood, without doubt. Fresh blood, at that. But it didn’t come from Charles. Erik cast a suspicious look into Charles’ teacup, but both he and Azazel were enjoying some spicy tea, thoroughly mundane, as much as anything could be mundane when a six-foot tall red demon was daintily sipping tea from a flower-patterned porcelain cup.

Erik took the offered drink and took a seat. “Why yes, Sebastian, I would love a new hat.”

“Pardon me?” Shaw threw him the most puzzled look over the rim of the porcelain.

“He’s been perfectly polite,” Charles told Erik under his breath. “This has to be the most civil tea party I have ever been kidnapped to, and I’ve attended my mother’s tea parties.”

“Congratulations. Sebastian, why are we here?”

“You are my favourite childe, Erik,” Sebastian said, without much concern for logical progression or the answering of questions, or even the odd murder attempt other people would hold against him. “It is quite the honour, as I rarely even bother with childes, unless they catch my eye. You have. If nothing else, your refusal to simply succumb to your betters, in the face of being overwhelmed, was something I’ve rarely seen, even among our kin.”

Something cold was dripping down Erik’s neck, seeping through the pores into his skin and immobilising him from the spinal column outward. He remembered that speech. He remembered hearing it in his final moments, when the vampire was forcing his mouth open and pouring poisonous blood inside, until he choked, until he was half-conscious and his body was too weak to fight the instinct to swallow rather than drown in it.

But there was no vampire blood in the cake or the tea, so at least he wasn’t going to turn Charles by surprise.

“I never thought you would be ready to sire childes of your own so soon, but here we are.” The ancient vampire put aside his drink and leaned over the table, to gaze into Charles’ eyes. “You are a psychic, are you not?”

“Guilty.” Charles held his own cup tightly; his fingers must have been stiff with effort, but his hand didn’t shake. Erik admired bravado. He would have admired it more if it wasn’t himself and a human boy against and ancient vampire and a demon of undetermined age and experience.

“I dreamed about you,” Sebastian was saying meanwhile, in a dreamy tone of voice. “I thought it was crazy, at first, because it was unthinkable that one person would be capable of such destruction without being one of the Old Ones, but there you are, bright and happy and thoroughly human.”

This was not a good sign. Erik tensed, griping the lighter tightly, ready to set everything on fire, but Shaw continued speaking, as though he didn’t notice.

“From the moment I’ve laid eyes on you, the dreams clarified. I have watched you die, at Erik’s hands, or mouth, should I say, I have seen you rise from the dust into the moonlit night. You rose and the world burned around you.” Sebastian folded his hands and rested his chin on them. “You, my young friend, hold a remarkable potential, but I imagine I’m not surprising you.”

Charles speared a strawberry on his plate and brought it to his lips. “I’m afraid I’m closer to the present on the psychic spectrum. I’m hopeless at prophecies. The only chronic dream I’ve ever had was dying with not a soul in sight in my own library, which a monkey could predict.”

“Trust me, then. The world will be bathed in blood on your account. I cannot congratulate you enough, Erik; I couldn’t have chosen better myself.”

Erik would happily accept congratulations in the form of spontaneous combustion. Failing that a free lift, to anywhere in the world for a person of his choosing would also be good, preferably somewhere sunny, like the middle of the Sahara at high noon.

Sebastian stole a strawberry from the cake from under Azazel’s nose and inhaled. “I miss the smell of fruit. I miss apples the most. So much could have been done with just an apple, or an apple tree. We absolutely must visit an orchard. I am dying for a basket of apples.”

Azazel caught Erik’s eye.

Yes, he is for real, his gaze said. I don’t know if he ever smokes anything, though, even if it would explain a lot. He doesn’t share.

Something must have brought Sebastian back from his merry fantasy of orchards and apples, because his blank gaze refocused when Erik tried to stand up, surreptitiously dragging Charles along. “I wanted to wish you both luck. Erik was always destined for greatness that is without question. He does, however, display a worrying tendency to remain unacknowledged. Everything will change now. I imagine I will see the flames.

“I think,” he continued in a much softer, faraway voice, “That we will all see the flames; that the human world will finally fall. That you will take it down yourself, my dear boy.”

Erik clenched his hand around Charles’, pressing the pads of his fingers deep into the boy’s palm. One more thing to envy the living – the pulse there was a comfort, a steady reminder that no matter what, the heart continued to beat; even if it quickened, it was still comforting.

Charles shuddered and then yawned, even as Erik listened to the thundering thumping of his heart against his ribcage. He was certain that if he focussed he would be able to pinpoint the chords a particular rib struck. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Dear me,” Sebastian said, fluttering off his chair like a bloody hummingbird. “You must go to bed, immediately. Erik, see to it. The boy needs to rest. He needs to eat! You look underfed, child. Have some more cake. In fact, why don’t you take it all, for later?”

Azazel expressed his nonverbal displeasure at the prospect of sharing more of the cake. Erik understood. He was displeased at the thought of having to share Charles.

“Thank you,” Charles said, smiling in a way that was completely at odds with the terror wracking his body. Too bad the skills were wasted on the audience, all of which had the extra senses with which to perceive acting.

Sebastian leaned forward once more, to steal the fork from Charles’ fingers, take his hand in both of his and stroke the knuckles with his thumb. “There, there,” he said. “No need for fright. It is quite the exhilarating experience, I’ll have you know. The world becomes so clear. You will understand everything so much better. Once you’ve seen a heart beating in the open air you know all there is to know about humanity. They are simple creatures, don’t you know. Delicious, of course, but mostly simple.”

“There are branches of academia dedicated to proving you wrong.”

“Ah, academia.” Sebastian drained his cup quickly, leaving a bloody moustache above his upper lip. “Really? That’s your sole defence of the human race? Darling, you are even more perfect than I imagined.” He put the cup down and stood up. “Now, as to the other matter.”

Erik shot out of his chair before he was even aware of it and gripped Shaw’s collar. “You are not turning him.”

Sebastian blinked. “Turn him? Erik, my dear. I wouldn’t dream of it!”

Erik reviewed the conversation up to this point. “Then what the fuck were you on about?” He had been so sure. It had been obvious. Then again, Shaw was crazy, so…

“I’m not going to turn him, when clearly you plan to. I’m not quite so ill-mannered as to encroach on your territory.”

Somewhere to the right Azazel was pouring Charles more tea and grudgingly wrapping up the strawberry cheesecake. Erik registered that, because his brain refused to process anything else.

“I can’t say I follow.”

“I won’t pretend I wouldn’t like to, you understand. I’m sure it would be magical. Unfortunately,” Sebastian said slowly, savouring the slipping syllables, “He is too young. I expected better from you, Erik, than debauching a teenager. I never figured you for the type.”

Erik wasn’t expecting the fatherly reproach in his manner any more than he would expect a surprise piranha attack on dry land.

“I tried to instil in you a sense of class. Teenagers are bothersome, loud and unpredictable. I had one, once – I ended up dusting her within her first year, she was so persistently teenaged. Do wait until he matures into someone interesting, if you can bear the wait. If not, well, we will prevail, I’m sure.”

Erik didn’t manage to close his mouth until well after Sebastian finished speaking. He was still reeling when, five minutes later, he and Charles were out on the street, with the cheesecake, clutching each other’s hands like Catholic schoolgirls confronted with a boy choir.

In Erik’s defence, Charles was the first to let out the hysterical giggle.

*****

Sometime later, when they were both calm, Erik hailed a cab.

“I could have walked,” Charles said when he was pushed into the backseat.

Walked, when every street corner was a potential kidnap zone. When every step could be his last, when the whole bloody city was crawling with demons and curses and vampires and fuck knows what else. No, Erik wasn’t having that. Shaw had to be playing a game; he was good at games. He could fuck a man’s head into an unholy mess until it turned in on itself and ate him alive, without even trying. Charles would be safe, he decided abruptly. He would go home, and if he was half as smart as he claimed he was, his home would have been demon-proofed like there was no tomorrow.

“You are going home.” Erik glared and Charles sighed and mumbled an address to the driver. Erik was busy stewing in his righteous panic, so it was only when they were pulling in in front of a stately mansion, after a long minutes of travelling over gravel and a lack of any lights whatsoever, that he exploded.

“You would have walked here?”

“Well, yes. This is my home.”

“Unbelievable. Do you know how many ways there are to hide a body in these bushes?”

“Approximately five hundred. I know.”

The driver shuddered and tried to become one with his cab, on the basis that no one would think of hurting the steering wheel. No one sane, at least. Erik grinned in full view of the rear mirror, which the man only noticed when he dared to turn his head. Gravel shot out from underneath the tyres as the cabbie pulled in in front of the house with a very impressive panicked squeal.

He was gone as soon as Charles dropped a tenner through the slit in the window.

“I’m not sure he deserved that tip,” Charles said. “You’re going to have to walk home.”

“I’ll live. Or not.”

Charles threw one of his hands into the air, minding the cheesecake he held in the other. “Wonderful, we are now in the realm of bad puns. My mind is already stimulated.”

“Sebastian is bloody smart, if your protection isn’t good enough, you are done.”

“Sebastian is a vampire, Erik. He will not get into the house, period.”

“He has a teleporting demon.”

“Yes, and the house is layered in enough magic to make teleportation inside impossible. We are not amateurs, Erik.”

This was promising. Charles laughed at his expression, but the laughter died quickly, when Erik pulled him close and shifted into his vampire mask. “Do not make jokes about this. You are a stupid child; you have no idea what Shaw’s capable of! If he wants you turned, you will be turned, and no amount of silly humans with their meagre magic skills will stop him.”

Unlike in the museum, now Charles was calm. He didn’t fear Erik, and if he did, not even a twitch betrayed him. “Let me go.”

Erik didn’t. He walked them both to the door, where he could press the boy against the cool wood and snarl into his face. “This is fucking serious! Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Charles told him. “Come inside and I’ll show you.”

Just like that Erik shattered. He hadn’t spoken with many vampires, because they were brutes who didn’t deserve his time, so he didn’t know if any of them felt like he did just then. He didn’t know if they acknowledged the invitations like a full-body caress that felt like silk and hot chocolate used to feel. That’s what it was, though. Charles’ palm was wrapped around his as he pulled them both through the threshold into a home. Erik felt the magical protection keenly; he felt the house, Charles’ home, invite him inside. Even though it was a mansion far too big for one boy, he knew immediately that Charles was the only one who lived there. Oh, there were other scents mingling with his: a girl, elderly men and women, people long dead, but only Charles’ was consistent, over and under everything, regardless of guests. The place was profoundly his.

There were a few jackets hanging by the door, of varying sizes, a peculiarly feminine scarf wrapped around the hook, but even that bore a hint of Charles, like he held it in his hands before it was hung.

Erik was still wallowing in the absolutely magical feeling of being inside a home, when he was hit in the face with a bat.

“What the actual fuck?” he asked, when the creature hit him again, squeaked, crawled all over his head and took off, flapping its wings one at a time. “Is that thing drunk?”

Charles was frowning at a crossbow by the door. “I was certain she got them all.”

“What the fuck is that thing?” Erik asked, keeping an eye on the creature fluttering high by the ceiling, probably trying to have sex with the chandelier. He was still looking up when something went “twang” and an arrow pierced the bat’s chest on its way to the opposite wall. The creature exploded into a flutter of dust motes, gliding back towards the floor like a lazy cloud, and the arrow was left stuck in the opposite corner, high on the wall.

Charles was propping the crossbow against the wall, like nothing happened. He looked at Erik over his shoulder, wearing the smallest smile, and Erik tried not to think how very warm it felt, to see Charles shoot things. “Look here,” he said, and when Erik frowned, he took his hand and placed it on a carving in the wooden doorframe. It felt warm to the touch, so much so that Erik was certain he wouldn’t be able to keep touching it for long, lest his palm burn. “Do you feel that?”

It took a moment to place the design, which seemed to twist away from his cognizance. “It’s Enochian. Demon script in Enochian.”

“It’s also all over the place. Most of those are reasonably new – my stepfather was crazy paranoid, as opposed to the rest of my family, who were merely suspicious. The place was demon-tight for centuries though.”

“How crazy is the rest of your family?”

“Come and see.”

Erik followed him up a flight of stairs, into an unfairly lovely study, with huge windows, which opened onto a wide terrace. Watchers didn’t get lodgings like this during Erik’s tenure. He had the feeling it was a little unfair.

Charles picked up a leather-bound journal from the shelf. It must have been frequently read, because it had post-it notes stuck to almost every page. “There’s no way a demon gets into this house,” Charles said quietly, while Erik skimmed the details of a protective charms carved into the foundations of the mansion. “Not without my say-so.”

This was reassuring.

“So, no more panic attacks?”

“I wasn’t panicking.”

“You are so panicking.” Charles grinned, even as Erik scowled, which was more than most people managed. What was more, he held the grin for over ten seconds, after which he broke into laughter. “I’m psychic, remember? Vampires feel, don’t try telling yourself you don’t. It’s just different. Humans feel like physical sensations, with vampires it’s mostly taste. It’s really funny, but your panic tastes bitter and cold, like ice-blended coffee.”

“It’s not funny.”

“It would be funny if I caught it on tape and sent it to a talk show. My vampire is having a doozy, please advise.”

Erik bristled. “A doozy?”

“Yes,” Charles said, tapping Erik’s nose. “A doozy.”

“My psychotic sire wants me to turn you into a vampire and you don’t think it’s a cause for concern?”

“I can handle myself.”

“He kidnapped you right off the street. If he wasn’t crazy as fuck, you’d be dead already.”

“But I’m not.”

“Through no fault of your own.”

Charles’ eyes narrowed. “I appreciate the concern, but I am fine, as you can see.”

Yes, Erik could see how fine he was, completely alone with a vampire in a huge, empty house. He was the perfect picture of sanity and self-preservation instinct.

Erik straightened, looked around and inhaled deeply. He could smell humans, other than Charles. The paramedic, Moira – she was a frequent guest. Another woman, or rather a girl, most likely the Slayer, who was around often enough. An elderly man who came over more often than others. A couple of maids, judging by the cleaning products. A bare suggestion of alcohol, perfume, sex and pot, suggesting a drunken student. The pizza boy.

“Is there anyone here who’d come running if something happened to you right now?”

“You tell me,” Charles told the desk as he tidied the book away.

“You’re pathetic.”

“So are your attempts at intimidation.”

“I can be intimidating. I’m a fucking vampire.”

“Well, you are a lousy vampire. Show, don’t tell.” Charles tweaked him on the nose and made a soft squeaky sound to match. Erik responded by casually sticking a hand down his pants.

There was something immensely gratifying about surprising Charles, even if Erik couldn’t help but get fixated on the artery pulsing in the crease of his thigh. Realistically, he wasn’t going to be allowed anywhere near there, which didn’t stop the fantasies from pouring into his mind – god, he could go down to his knees right here, in the study, he could have Charles on the desk, he could feel him spasm and shiver against his lips.

“Stop it,” Charles whimpered, shoving ineffectually at his shoulders, dragging him closer with clawed hands at the same time. His head was lolling back, his mouth was parted over what might have been the name of god, or a resounding “fuck”, Erik wasn’t sure. The wonders of the teenage years, he thought in delight, wiggling his fingers in the warm confines of Charles’ jeans.

“Give me one good reason.”

Charles glared and with remarkable mental acuity began listing very good reasons to stop while they were ahead. “You’re a vampire, I’m a Watcher. You’re dead, I’m alive. You are old. You’re a demon in human flesh.”

Those were some good reasons; Erik had to admit as much. “Is that a no, then?”

“Fuck no.”

Erik moved so that he was pressing Charles to the desk with his legs. He slid both of his hands underneath his shirt, cradling the shuddering chest. It was much like holding a birdcage in his hands, except this time the cage was alive and the bird inside needed to remain imprisoned, lest the world come to an end. Erik pressed his cheek where he could hear the fluttering the strongest and stilled, letting the song overwhelm his senses.

If he perhaps started undoing buttons with his mouth while he was there, well, no one needed to know.

Charles gasped his name, a curse and prayer at the same time, and pulled him up to meet his lips.

“Good thing you’re not that young,” Erik said.

“Kinky old man.”

“Darling, if you think I’m being kinky now, then we should definitely stop.” Charles’ hand was in Erik’s hair, dragging his head back, so that he could dig his teeth into the tender skin of his throat. Erik moaned and pulled at Charles’ shirt. The buttons would find a way to escape, or they would be ripped, he didn’t care. Shirts could be replaced, desks could be replaced.

If he was thinking rationally, he would realise that sex could also be had some other time, in a bed. If he was thinking rationally. Erik had chosen to give his brain a break for a few hours.

There were a few advantages to vampirism, one of them, of course, being superior strength. Erik could pull up Charles’ thighs around his hips with hardly any effort and heft him into the air, which he did. They ended up on the desk, Erik sitting on the edge, with his legs dangling, and Charles straddling him, with the few books and papers still there pushes to the far side, spilling onto the expensive carpeting.

Erik would have to remember to move, later on, because if they fell asleep in the study, he would have a very rude awakening when the morning light knocked on the windows. Right now it was peaceful, dark. The mansion was far enough removed from the city lights that he could see stars, or he could see stars, if he wasn’t drunk on the sound Charles’ blood made inside his veins. It was far louder than the gasps spilling from his mouth, far warmer than his breath, far more beautiful than the sky, the stars, every other fucking thing on god’s green earth, because it was his alone. Erik wasn’t the sharing kind.

How conducive sex was to philosophy was no shock – what was a little troubling was that Erik had a lovely, eager, wiggling boy in his lap and he began to worry which part of him was possessive, exactly.

Later. Never. It didn’t matter.

The strike came as a surprise. Charles tumbled off Erik and off the desk, landing on the ground with a muted groan. Erik had half a second to react and pull himself together, before the book was swinging again, aimed at his head.

It was only when he was ten feet away from the desk that he was able to take stock of the situation. A girl. A sixteen-year-old girl was swinging an ancient tome in her hands, one of the leather and metal bound ones, as easily as she would pick up a safe sex pamphlet.

Holy fuck, it was the Slayer.

Holy fuck, she wasn’t paying attention to him.

“You traitor,” she told Charles, picking up a letter opener from the ornate cup which escaped being pushed off the desk. “You invite the undead into your house!”

“Laura,” Charles started, “Don’t. He’s not dangerous.” He stuttered and dragged the vowels, which alone told Erik he must be concussed.

“I’ll find him and I will kill him,” she said, dropping to her knees beside Charles, holding the letter opener high. “After I dispose of you, traitor.”

This was the first time that Erik saw genuine fear in Charles’ eyes. It made him hesitate, even though he was only inches away from freedom. Let the Slayer boast, he could be out the window and halfway across the world before she thought of following him, but here was Charles, terrified out of his mind, and this bloody girl, who didn’t think past the obvious, who was bringing down the dull knife–

No, Erik didn’t think. Fighting a Slayer on-on-one was a death sentence to any vampire, save perhaps a very lucky one. He should, and he would, wonder what was going through his head when he grasped the girl’s wrist and flung her aside.

Certainly what was going through his head after he did it was a loud “oh shit”, because she didn’t contend with slamming into the wall and landing in a half-conscious heap on the floor, like every other human would have. No, she turned while airborne, to land with her feet firmly planted on the panelling and her hand, the one not holding the knife, on the floor.

“So you are in league with him,” she snarled. “How could you? I trusted you! The Council trusted you!”

“It’s not like that, Laura, please!” Charles yelled, unsuccessfully trying to get his arms to support him.

She was moving, fast as any demon. Erik intercepted her half-way, and it was a good thing she held a metal knife not a pencil, because it ended up shoved to the hilt into his chest and through his heart. Don’t let her get a hold of anything wooden, Erik told himself as he kneed her in the stomach, and got punched in the thorax for his trouble, in a way that would have been deeply uncomfortable, were he not dead already.

She’d just returned from patrol, he thought. It was so late it was early. She was still young. She must be tired.

Erik dodged a high kick which would likely have taken his head off his shoulders and flipped the Slayer onto her back, while her leg was on the downswing. She was on her feet again before he could blink and fuck it all to hell, goddamn it, if she came after him fully rested, he was dead.

He was dead now, if he let his guard down for a moment. The knife in his chest hurt like hell, as did the arm she was just breaking with the blade of her hand. Fuck. Fuck. Charles had dragged himself to the desk and was rifling through the drawers, but that was all Erik had time to ascertain, before the Slayer dug her heel into his knee.

Erik went down with a shout. Hell and damnation, he thought, looking at the chit of a girl. She was strong and fast, but, fortunately for him, not terribly bright, because she was leaning over him instead of running for the nearest wooden implement, giving Erik the perfect opening to drag the letter opener out of his chest and into hers.

She didn’t die instantly. She still had time enough to crack a few of his ribs, but she was distracted, sloppy. Erik dug the heel of his palm into her trachea and twisted the knife, until she was dead.

Only then did he realise that Charles was screaming. It didn’t matter. Erik was tired and hurt; his self-control was failing. Even with the damaged knee he could make it across the room faster than Charles could run the distance at top speed, and Charles was incapacitated by the blow to the head earlier. He only realised what he was doing when he felt his ribs knit together, when the dead heart in his chest mended. Charles struggled weakly, but he made no sound, he could make no sound with Erik’s palm covering his mouth.

And yet, somehow, Erik stopped. He found himself kneeling astride Charles’ hips, with one of his hands on his mouth, the other on his right shoulder, exposing his bleeding neck, exposing the teeth-marks there. Charles was looking at him; his eyes were wide-open and terrified, and blue enough to become lost in, without a hope of recovery.

“Hold this,” Erik said, tearing off a tail of Charles’ shirt, bundling it up and pulling his left hand to hold it in place. There would be a first aid kit in the desk. There had to be. The drawers were already on the floor, gutted from contents, and it was only a matter of seconds to locate the bright blue box.

It went against every instinct he had, to refrain from licking the wound clean. Charles’ blood was burning the roof of his mouth even now, and he licked his lips repeatedly to make sure he hadn’t missed a drop, while at the same time he was sousing a cotton pad in disinfectant and dabbing it against the edges. A sterile dressing was next, then bandage. How much did he drink? How long did he drink for? He couldn’t think straight, not when his nostrils were still full of Charles, when his mouth hadn’t yet progressed into the aftertaste stage of eating.

His higher functions shut down, because he was bending to the floor and licking the liquid that made it onto the floor, and it was not enough, not nearly enough. It would have to do; it would have to cheat the hunger which shook his limbs now and would, likely, continue to do so for as long as Erik walked the Earth.

“Erik,” Charles whispered. “You need to leave.”

It was like he hadn’t heard.

“Leave. Now. The sky is light. This room faces east.”

No. no. no. no.

“Get off me.”

Sanity was slow to return. Control even slower. Erik dragged himself to his feet. He could walk, albeit unsteadily, and Charles was right, he needed to go; he hurt a Watcher, he couldn’t stay, the other Watchers would have his head if he stayed.

“I don’t want to,” he said nonetheless, forcibly dragging his gaze from the bandage, which was slowly soaking up the red blood. “Don’t make me.”

“Sorry,” Charles said, and then he said something else, something which Erik should have understood, but didn’t. The words sent him flying through the open window onto the terrace, where he stumbled, but tried to get back immediately, because Charles was bleeding, he couldn’t get away while Charles was bleeding.

He couldn’t get in. He tried the other windows, but there was glass, and where there wasn’t, there was a barrier, an invisible wall he could touch, could feel, but couldn’t cross. “What did you do? What did you do?!”

Charles took a few unsteady steps in his direction and collapsed onto his knees. There were tears on his face and his eyes were feverishly bright. “Leave, Erik. Leave and never come back, because I swear I will shoot you on sight, if I see you again.”

“Let me in, damn it!”

“No.” Charles took a deep breath and whimpered. His head fell until it was resting on Erik’s palm, held in the air by the magical barrier. “No, Erik. You have to leave. Right now.”

He remained seated, however, with the side of his face pressed against Erik’s palm, even as he clutched at the cordless phone he must have grabbed off the desk. His fingers trembled on the keypad, but he pressed nine three times in quick succession.

“There’s been a burglary,” he said into the receiver, after giving his address. “My friend is dead. I’m hurt. Please come quickly.”

“There’s nothing they can do for my condition,” Erik said dryly, when Charles hung up the phone.

Charles tore himself away from his touch and glared. “Laura. You killed Laura!”

Oh. That.

“Let me in, Charles.”

“Goodbye, Erik.”

“I’ll come back.”

Charles was staring across the room, at the body of the girl, who seemed quite small in the grey morning light. “Don’t bother,” he whispered.

“You think I’ll leave it like this? The hell I will. You belong to me, now. I will come back for you.”

“We’re done. Go, now, before the ambulance comes, before they see you.”

“Charles!” It was a last ditch effort to make him look, a last chance to see his eyes. It worked. “Don’t leave the house. Stay here, stay safe. I will come back for you, I swear.” He hesitated, but there was no stopping his treacherous mouth now. “I want you. I want to keep you,” he said quietly, pressing against the magical barrier with all his strength. “Charles…”

“You’re a demon Erik, a demon wearing a human body. What makes you think I will ever want to keep you?” Charles held his gaze evenly, but he was growing pale and within a few moments he had to lie down on the floor. Erik stayed, never tearing his gaze away from the sluggish raise and fall of his chest, until he heard the sirens, until he knew someone was coming to staunch the bleeding properly.

Then he climbed down from the balcony and ran across the grounds, mindless of his damaged leg, through the haphazard patches of trees, until he found cover in a basement. “I’ll come back,” he swore out loud, even though no one was listening. He would come back and he would keep Charles, then, because Charles was his.

*****

Now

Charles sighs into his mouth, but when Erik starts tearing at the buttons of his shirt he makes no further sound. The undershirt narrowly escapes destruction, and Erik flings it to the side, in favour of pushing Charles onto the bed, face-down.

The tattoo covers most of his back. The main design is a circle, which Erik now recognises as the Sigillum Dei Hank was so excited about. It is ten inches in diameter; the highest point is just below the line of the shoulders. Erik traces the middle pentagram with his finger, trying to make sense of the lettering there. Now that he remembers something strikes him as odd about this particular design, but he cannot place it. It has to be different, because the one he knows is for magic circles and binding demons, when…

“How can this work when you’re human?” he asks, but already he can see the answer in the runes written into the extra circles which interlope with the central sigil. Overall the design is in the shape of a cross, hovering over a base of another, smaller design, which has some connection to fire, spreading out perpendicularly to Charles’s spine, over his sacral bone.

“The whole mansion, and a portion of the grounds, was turned into an enormous binding circle. The tattoo cannot cross it, or it will incinerate.”

Erik bows his head until his chin is in the groove of Charles’ spine and the fiery tattoo burns the fire that threatens to consume him. “I will kill them. All of them, every last one.”

Charles turns and sits up, so that he and Erik are nose to nose. “No, you won’t.”

“They deserve it.”

“They deserve nothing.”

“You don’t deserve this. How long did they give you?”

Charles closes his eyes. “Life.”

“What?”

“I killed a Slayer, Erik. I killed her by knowingly letting a vampire into my house.”

“That girl was an unhinged murderer. She was going to kill you.”

“She was only following her training, her instinct. It’s not her fault.”

“She was ready to kill a human being, Charles, regardless of what you did, that makes her a murderer. It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Charles smiles and his hand is infuriatingly gentle on Erik’s cheek. “Would you have fought her at all if she hadn’t implied she would kill me? Would you have stood up to the Slayer if it was some other Watcher she attacked?”

Erik says nothing. He doesn’t give a fuck about the Watchers. They can all die in a fire, far as he’s concerned.

“Exactly.” Charles draws him in into a deep kiss, until the tattoo is all but forgotten. “There is a possibility of parole.”

“Good behaviour? Is that why you are living with a zombie, a banshee and a fire demon? I bet the Council loves that.”

“Hank is not a zombie, and Alex is only a demon on his mother’s side.”

“What’s the parole option?”

“Raven. I will be released if she survives her Tento di Cruciamentum.”

“She’s the fucking Slayer, how many even live to take it? What if she dies before then, she’s what, sixteen now? She has two years to go!”

“I know.”

“You want to put Raven through the Cruciamentum?” Demon or not, soul or not, Erik isn’t a merciful kind of a man. He devised a Cruciamentum which killed a Slayer when he was twenty five. He was praised for it. Charles, on the other hand, coddles Raven. No way in hell he will go through with letting her be drugged, depowered and pitted against an old, cunning vampire. “What if she dies?”

“It’s not impossible to conquer it,” Charles whispers into his neck. “It’s barbaric, of course it’s barbaric. She still has time. It’s all I can do, to train her to be the best. I even got a head start, compared to what most other Slayers get.

“She came to me when she was eleven – oh, Erik, she was so scared, then. I found her in the kitchen, stealing food from the fridge. She had nowhere else to go, so I took her in. The Council let me, when it turned out she was a Potential – not that they had much choice, given what was left of the academy.” Erik cannot help but grin at that. Shaw is useful, sometimes, and leaving the academy in smoking ruins was the most worthwhile thing he’s ever done. But Charles isn’t finished.

“Then she was called and they mentioned the possibility of letting me off early.” He draws a breath which stutters around his teeth. “She cannot know. That is part of the agreement. If she finds out about the ritual, even if she survives, I won’t be released. How can I not tell her, though? She’s my little sister. I should tell her. She deserves to know. I always make sure she knows what’s in store for her.”

About that, at least, Erik has no doubt. “Don’t. She will live to see eighteen, and she will survive. She’s already good enough to look after herself and she will only get better.”

“I don’t know if I can watch her suffer through that, just because my freedom is riding on it. House arrest isn’t that bad.”

“Shut up.” From what he gathered about Raven, now, before, and from the fit she’s just thrown, when Charles said what he said, was that she would happily assist him in wiping out the Council, if it meant Charles could walk away free. She would kill them both for jeopardising the chance, just to give her an edge she didn’t need. “Did you tell her about any of it? That your future is riding on hers?”

“I didn’t want to put any pressure on her.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

Charles shrugs, as though that explains everything, and in many ways it does. “Telling her now would serve no purpose, regardless. She would only fret. In a couple of years, perhaps.”

Erik doesn’t say “don’t tell her,” secure in the knowledge Charles knows. Yes, the Cruciamentum is a sadistic game, devised by the old people to make the short, unhappy life of the doomed girl even shorter, but Raven is already strong and smart enough to take on a nest of demons unaided. She will conquer it, and Charles will have his freedom back, which he will waste, by staying in the library and reading the days away.

It’s a good future to look forward to, Erik thinks. A dusty library, a few candles, leather bound books, the remainder of the Council screaming in fear as he tears their hearts out, Charles making his detailed spreadsheets on ancient vampires. He is looking forward to it.

“I upset them, didn’t I?” Charles stares at the door and it’s not a great leap to figure out he means the collection of strays downstairs.

“You did.” Erik rolls his eyes and pulls him closer. They kiss for a short while, until someone knocks on the door.

“Hi!” Sean pokes his head through the crack, mindless of the horrors he could be witnessing by not waiting for an invitation. “Hank is currently rigging my sound system to the projector; we should be good to go in half an hour, when Alex gets back with the popcorn and coke. Do you wanna watch Friday the 13th? I want to watch Friday the 13th. Cool tattoo, dude, can I get one, too? Raven wants to watch Twilight, don’t make it Twilight, please. I get the appeal of googly-eyed vampires, no offence Erik, but you are, and I have that at home, to peruse at my leisure.”

“Why are you advocating slasher horror, then? You have that at home as well,” Charles says, sitting up and running his hand through his hair.

Sean shrugs. “It’s funnier on TV. Come quick, because Raven is alone with Hank and he’s got the willpower of a wet donkey when it comes to her. I don’t want to spend the week following Erik around with a xylophone, making twinkling noises, because he would kill me.”

“I understand why I would kill you; I don’t understand the twinkling noises,” Erik says. He has mastered the art of conversing with Sean: always have an implied threat, exacerbate it if at all possible. It gives the conversation something to hold on to, when the banshee takes it careening into unexpected directions.

“It’s a vampire thing, luv. These days the common vampire sparkles in the sunlight and makes twinkling noises while he sparkles and seduces human girls.” Charles taps his chin as he buttons up his shirt, to Sean’s and Erik’s mutual disappointment. The tattoo, aside from every fucked up thing it represents, looks really good on Charles’ trim back. Erik is looking forward to mapping it with his tongue.

“Here’s a thought,” Charles says, when the shirt is neatly buttoned and he looks ready to follow Sean downstairs. “We could roll you up in glitter. Maybe Raven would be keener to forgive you then.”

Erik levels him with a look. “You want me to roll in glitter to make nice with the Slayer.”

Sean beams, which tells Erik the idea has just gained support, approval and a soundtrack. “Awesome. I’ll go dust my xylophone.”

“I need you to be nice to her. You hurt her feelings pretty badly.” There is gentle reproach in Charles’ voice, which Erik is learning to dread. He didn’t set out to hurt Raven; her feelings were collateral damage. He just needed an invitation. She went overboard with interpretation and fitted an entire ideology to his actions; that really isn’t his problem.

“And you think the glitter will help with hurt feelings,” Erik says, even though he knows he already lost and his immediate future is dazzling.

Charles confirms his defeat with a smile most demons would run away from. “Well, not as such, but it will be hilarious and it’s hard to stay mad at something that hilarious.”

“Why stop there? I’m sure there is a sequinned dress lying around here that I could add to the ensemble. Maybe even fishnet stockings.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Charles says, even as he helps Erik out of his turtleneck. “Raven has yet to discover the wonderful world of drag. We’ll save the dress for later.”

Downstairs is a warzone, because Raven will not relent and Alex has some pretty loud objections to voice, which are supported (very, very quietly) by Hank, mostly because when Alex objects things catch fire, and Hank is the one who can reliably fix most things. Sean simply perches on the backrest of the chair, with the xylophone in his lap, and chimes his way through a melody in his head.

Erik’s appearance effectively shuts everyone up. The viewing of the movie is periodically interrupted for re-enactments, which garner public applause and approval. Hank manipulates the lampshades to create some convincing sunrays and Erik stands in the middle, with his shirt open. He is sparkling purple, because that was the only glitter Charles could find, and he can’t help but wonder how is this his unlife, while Sean chimes him a musical background.

It turns out to be worth it, by Academy Awards standards, because even Raven cheers when he kisses Charles for the grand finale.

THE END.