The Package
Title: The Package
Author: septemberoses
Fandom: True Blood/En Forelskelse crossover
Rating: R for sexual assault (implied), hurt/comfort
Pairing: Eric/Carsten/Godric, sort of
Word Count: 5400
Warning: This fic contains sexual assault, although it's both implied and related after the fact.
Note: Two people asked me for this fic some time ago when I was first writing Eric/Carsten. Having found an angle that interested me, I did it as a writing exercise. (Yes, another long, miserable, angsty fic - it's that time of year, apparently.) As it doesn't fit in at all with my established LJ canon, perhaps it's just a terrible dream. There will be another, related fic after this one. Special thanks to keenoled for helping me with some details.
Valentin drove his Mercedes-Benz through the dirty, slush-covered streets, past the dreary, darkened warehouses, lost in thought. He knew what had to be done, and he would do it, although he found it both distasteful and beneath him. If it prevented further bloodshed, or an all-out war, it would be worth it. He hoped he was not too late. He had his doubts.
The whole affair seemed faintly ridiculous to him. If someone had told him all this as a story he'd have laughed and shook his head in disbelief at the folly of it. Of course they shouldn't have done it; the boy was marked, he belonged to another. But the spoilage rate on humans was effectively one hundred percent. They fell on their heads, or lost their blood, or became useless in any of a dozen other ways. And when that happened, as it invariably did, you went out and got yourself another. It was like watching grown men argue over an insect. If it had been something else - tribute, say, or gold, or trading routes, or some other source of income - he'd have understood the dispute. But this? This was beyond the pale. He shook his head. Was this what the old alliances had been reduced to? How things had changed.
Valentin had only heard bits of the story at first, as rumor; he doubted even he knew the whole of it now. A Danish boy had been snatched in the Gothenburg rail station, and his owner - that mad American viking, who was there on business - had insisted that he'd been taken by vampires, with the Gothenburg organization emphatically denying it. Then, apparently, those at the top had got the unhappy word that perhaps the boy had in fact been taken by vampires - and even worse, some of their own, although the gang in question was so low in stature and so invisible within that large city that finding them was like hunting for cockroaches. The city bosses had begun a frantic search, pressing everyone beneath them, looking for the boy - something Valentin thought privately that they might have done when he'd first disappeared, as a gesture of goodwill if nothing else.
Then several days were spent with each side - the bosses and the viking, who had his own ancient networks here in Sweden - casting their respective nets wide over the city. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. In truth they could have taken the boy anywhere by then, out of the country, even. Valentin thought it highly likely that the cockroaches, having discovered their grave mistake, would have cut their losses, gotten rid of the boy's body where it would never be found, and then deny they'd ever had him.
Valentin was phoned and called in directly for a private meeting, which was where he learned most of this surprising information. He waited patiently until at last he was told why he was there - it seemed that the boy was, miraculously, alive and might soon be returned, but in the meantime Valentin was to go at once as mediator and begin to attempt some amends on behalf of Gothenburg for this terrible mistake, before the viking made good on his threats to tear the city apart - for a boy, of all things.
The entire episode was a nightmare. Those at the top were not precisely responsible for what had happened; being neither suicidal nor stupid, they'd never deliberately provoke the wrath of the viking, with whom they had a cordial relationship, or the other, his maker, who was even more ruthless and venal. But Gothenburg should have been running things better. They should have put the screws on and tightened them until those vampires produced the missing property, and quickly. The viking was said to be furious with the way things had been handled on their end, and understandably so; it showed a certain laxity. No doubt that would be looked into.
Those two vampires, though - the viking and his maker -- everyone knew they were the byword for perversion, the one still kept by the other, their bond unbroken, a ludicrous proposition in itself. He'd not believed it the first time he'd heard. If it had been his child he'd have exerted some discipline in the situation, injected some reason. You didn't make these kinds of threats, you didn't behave this way over a boy, no matter how you fancied him. Boys were expendable goods with an extremely short shelf life, after all, and there were hundreds - no, thousands - of boys in this city who would have done just as well. But no, they had to have this boy. Or else.
At least Valentin had had the good fortune to meet with the elder one, the maker, the American sheriff with all sorts of valuable connections who was nonetheless still capable of reason --- unlike, apparently, the other. Valentin had spoken with him at length, had begun to untangle the mess and sort out what might be done to make amends. He had suggested, delicately, after the appropriate amount of discussion had taken place, that a more logical approach might be to seek reparations from Gothenburg for the offense, such as it was. The goods were, as he had sensibly if obliquely pointed out, quite likely to be sufficiently damaged so as to be of little further interest, although this he had not seen firsthand and had no immediate way of verifying. He had a figure in mind which he named, one that had been given to him privately, and one that he found generous to the point of obscenity. He'd waited as the other vampire considered the offer.
Valentin knew himself to be in no personal danger - he was the designated mediator, having no vested interest in the doings of either side, and he was there in a capacity that afforded him immunity and protection, regardless of the outcome. But he had felt the hair rise on the back of his neck as he sat patiently, enduring the unblinking gaze of the vampire in the chair across from him. It was a strange sensation; he was not easily discomfited, although he knew the anger that burned there was not for him. No, came the considered answer, delivered courteously. They would have the boy, alive, and now. There was no need for further threats, and the vampire didn't bother making them. If these doings were incomprehensible to Valentin from a purely practical perspective, taken at face value it was all crystal clear. It would be the boy, or all hell would break loose.
He turned into the alley he'd been searching for, aware already that he was being watched by others who were expecting him, even though he couldn't see who or where they were. They wouldn't harm him either. Valentin knew that having been chosen as mediator was an honor, an acknowledgement of his diplomacy and his discretion. He'd assumed however that this particular chore would have been assigned to someone lower, although of course he hadn't complained. They had their reasons, even if he didn't know them … what a spectacularly ugly place this was. Hisingen, they called it. Just across the bridge from the city proper and a world apart, a place that nobody in their right minds ever went. So the boy had been hidden under their noses all along. Valentin hoped never to visit Hisingen again. He parked the car and killed the lights. There was no sense in delaying further.
"That's him, then. Good as gold, he's been." The vampire who'd slid open the locked steel door was shabbily dressed and thin, with a narrow face and mouse-colored hair. He was also grinning like the fool he no doubt was, given the circumstances. Valentin looked down toward the floor in the narrow room and frowned. The boy was still alive, curled up on a bare mattress which was heavily stained in a way that encouraged no further scrutiny. He was covered in puncture marks and scrapes and bruises, as much as Valentin could see of him. His lips were cracked and scabbed and his skin was mottled, and not just from the bruising; he looked blue with cold. He appeared unconscious. There was a small electric heater in the corner, but the room would be chilly to a human, and he was only partly covered by the dirty brown blanket, and likely naked underneath it. Valentin tilted his head. This was what all the fuss was about? This creature was no Helen of Troy, certainly. His heartbeat was rapid and faint; Valentin wondered when they'd last fed or watered him. There was nothing in the room to indicate that these things had been done recently, or at all. How long had he been missing? Almost a week. Well, he'd be dead by now if they hadn't given him something. Valentin wondered what else they might have given him.
"Have you put any drugs in him? Anything at all? I want to know." They'd want to know, and so he asked, although he wouldn't have bet any serious money on getting an honest answer. The boy had been fed off of, and the vampires around here (well, certain lower classes of vampires anywhere) liked to feed the humans drugs, or inject them, and then partake of the effects in the blood. He himself desired only untainted blood, and he was revolted by this practice, which had only grown more prevalent with the uneasy public coexistence that had been forged between humans and vampires. The humans had nobody but themselves to blame, so fond were they of polluting their frail bodies. These vampires obviously hadn't given their new toy any of their own blood to heal his wounds or prolong his survival, however briefly. Under the circumstances, that was probably best.
"Nay, not a thing, we just savored him a little," the vampire answered in his perplexing, uneducated patois. As pathetic as humans were, Valentin couldn't help but question why so many of the vampires he met had ever been made at all. Of course any ruler needed reliable underlings to do his dirty work, some aspects of that work being dirtier than others. An educated mind and an eloquent tongue weren't of much value there. But one did get the impression that little forethought had gone into many of the newer vampires around him. No wonder so many of them failed miserably at holding onto their own immortality; they were both greedy and inexpressibly stupid, as had been amply demonstrated by this particular chain of events. Other considerations aside, they could hardly have chosen a more dangerous pair to steal from. Valentin thought that, whatever the night's work brought, this gang of vampires would likely be among the less immortal. Well. No great loss.
"You're early," the vampire continued, almost apologetically. "We was going to throw him in the shower in back, rinse him off a bit first." Valentin suppressed a sigh. It was good, then, that he was early. He was almost sure there was no hot water to be found here. If they hadn't drowned the pathetic creature accidentally he'd likely have died from the shock. Really, these vampires were especially dim.
"There's no time for that, I'm to take him now. Where are his things?"
"His … things?" The other vampire looked at him blankly.
"His things." Valentin closed his eyes briefly, fighting his annoyance. "His … clothes, his wallet, and what have you. Whatever he had on him when you took him."
"Oh. His things." The vampire looked around the small, barren room as if waiting for these things to magically present themselves. "Honest, I don't know. I don't think - we haven't got anything like that here." Perhaps they'd had him stashed somewhere else first; perhaps they'd disposed of his possessions, which couldn't have been worth much. It wasn't worth arguing over, and this cretin was unlikely to be of help. There was no point in dressing the boy now anyway, and Valentin wouldn't have been inclined to do so if his clothes had been sitting right there in a heap.
"Never mind. I'll just wrap him in the blanket."
"I still don't think it's right." The man looked at him indignantly with his small, stupid eyes. "What you're doing. He's ours, fair and square."
Valentin gazed at him, impassive, speaking quietly and with authority. "The arrangements have been made. You know it. Your masters have agreed. Go find something else to amuse yourself with." If you're lucky, he thought to himself, the others won't find out who you are, because I know they're looking. And I'm not sure you've ever been that lucky. But those thoughts were his alone. He wasn't here to quibble. He wrapped the boy's limp body in the dirty blanket and picked him up. If his own luck held, and the child managed to cling to life in the car on the way back to his rightful owners, Valentin's part in this charade would be finished. The next time he needed a favor, his work tonight, and on the nights prior, wouldn't be forgotten. The boy's owners would honor the spirit of the agreement if not the fine print. There'd be no war. What might happen to these particular vampires, if their names became known through sources other than him, was another matter. And not his concern. If they were all staked, they deserved it, for nothing more than their own idiocy.
He unlocked his car and put the boy on the back seat, trying not to mind the stink. If they truly hadn't drugged the child it was plain enough what else they'd done; he reeked of sex, along with the distasteful smells one might expect given the dismal conditions in which they'd kept him. Valentin would have been shocked if they hadn't used him like that, unappetizing as the thought was. He preferred his humans freshly showered (not to mention female, and willing rather than glamoured - he had his own regular arrangements.) Perhaps they'd glamoured the little wretch first in their crude way but he doubted it. With this class of vampire, they'd enjoy his terror and his pain along with the sex and the blood, which Valentin hoped wasn't seeping out of him even as he lay there; it would be annoying to have him die now after all their trouble. He'd have to get the car cleaned as it was, and likely his suit, to get rid of the smell. He was tempted to wind the window down, but there was no use taking the risk of killing the boy off now in the cold. He gritted his teeth and turned the heat on full blast. When he reached the main road, Valentin pulled the cell phone from his coat and dialed the number programmed in there.
"I've got the package," he said, into the answering silence. "I'm on my way." There was no response, nor did he expect one. He hung up and returned the phone to his pocket and turned on the radio. He had a long drive ahead of him; perhaps he could listen to something soothing as he went.
The house was large, set well back from the road behind an ancient hedge and with an armed guard at the gate, which Valentin knew was the least of it. There was security all over the grounds. They were well away from Gothenburg and the residents had no direct ties to the city; as far as Valentin knew the bosses were still concealing where the boy had been all this time, trying to mitigate their own organizational culpability or gross ineptitude, depending on how one looked at it. He was directed at the guardhouse to follow the drive to the service entrance around back. Well, they'd hardly want him trooping in the front door, would they? That door swung open before he reached it, the boy in his arms, his face hidden by the blanket. He followed the vampire down the hall, resisting the urge to glance about at the artwork along this dark galley before being ushered through yet another door, into a small hall, and then to the room that was, apparently, their destination.
There was a fire burning in the fireplace, beneath a fine old stone mantel, not too fussy, but he tore himself away from those details and smiled at the blonde vampire waiting, her legs curled up, as always, beneath her in the plush chair.
"And about time," she said. "How is he?"
"Alive." There was a bed and a recamier. He chose the bed and deposited the boy, still wrapped up, on the heavy silk coverlet. The room was lovely, all apricots and creams that glowed in the firelight.
"Did you speak to him?"
"No, he's quite beyond that now." Perhaps he should place the boy under the coverlet? He was at a loss here. He was no nursemaid. The sooner he was done and gone, the better.
She had risen and was standing next to him, looking down at the boy; then she pulled the blanket partly aside. His color was less wretched, Valentin could see. The warmth of the car must have done him some good. He'd stirred briefly once or twice in the back seat, but that had been all. He was still unconscious.
Her fingertips rested for a moment on the back of Valentin's hand. He was suddenly, painfully aware of the way he smelled.
"Is there anything else? Anything else I should know?"
He shook his head, still looking down. Whatever was to be known was already written there on that small, battered body.
"Not really. They said he hadn't been drugged; they might be lying, of course. They didn't have his things. I only spoke to the one, who complained about the terms, the idiot, but they were all there, skulking about out of sight. There was no trouble. I hurried, since the boy was still alive. Although he looks better now … well, they kept their side, you're the witness." Indeed it appeared at this moment that the boy would live, his injuries, extensive though they might be, requiring nothing more than a vampire's blood to heal. Certainly some glamouring looked to be in order after he awoke.
"See the way they've bitten him." She sounded withdrawn. He knew what she meant. If the punctures had been done efficiently he'd have died long ago, drained of all his blood. There weren't just puncture marks but shallow scrapes and literal bites - there were teeth marks as well. The punctures were deliberately placed well away from the veins, some in places that were especially painful. They'd done it for the sport of it, taking only a little at a time, drawing it out.
"They're fools, all of them," she said quietly. "You should go. They're on their way here now. Also, stop by the front parlor and say hello." So. He kept the smile from his face. There was the other business to discuss after all; he knew who would be waiting. Perhaps the boy had brought some luck with him. This augured well. It was a pity he didn't have time to change first, but there was nothing to be done for it.
Valentin was standing with the others after his private audience, warming his back discreetly in front of the fire in the drawing room; he was tired, and the night was bitterly cold, he could hear the wind picking up. He was elated, although his expression revealed nothing. The trip had been well worth it, even with the added, unexpected complication of tonight's business. If everything fell into place as it should -- and he would think on that further tomorrow, he was nothing if not cautious -- he would be a rich vampire indeed.
The heavy drapes framing the arch to the inner foyer swayed as the great door was opened down the hall. Another group of vampires was entering; soon they were in clear view of those already in the drawing room. The new arrivals stopped and remained in the foyer, waiting; he knew immediately who they were. He looked at them impassively along with the others. Vampires didn't startle easily but he saw eyes blink around him, which said enough. Others knew them, if not why they were here.
They'd brought their thugs along, the usual sort. Here was the small vampire in front, the American sheriff whom he'd met already, who looked at them as a group, not singling Valentin out in any way. They nodded politely. Valentin was curious, wondering which the other might be. He didn't have to look long. It must be the tall one, in the leather jacket, with the untidy blond hair that wanted a decent haircut. He didn't appear all that different from the others until you looked at his face. It held a kind of cold, blank rage which made Valentin want to back away, although he didn't, not wanting to draw the vampire's attention. He looked manifestly evil; and yet he didn't seem the type to kick up such a fuss over one worthless human.
Valentin had heard the stories; nobody could say which of the two would be worse to cross, but in that moment he'd have put his money on the younger one, standing there with his fists clenching and unclenching, impatience and menace rolling off of him in waves that shook the air around him as he stared ahead, ignoring them. They said he was old, and wily, and rich as Croesus however badly he dressed, and that his reach was as long as his memory. He was there to collect the boy.
Valentin looked away. Those vampires in the warehouse were as good as finished, he could see that now. If their masters had any sense, they'd do them a kindness and stake them themselves before the viking got ahold of them. Although he knew he was blameless for what had happened, he decided he'd slip out discreetly as soon as the foyer was empty. He'd survived longer than many already. There had been setbacks, and he'd made his way more by his wits than his money quite recently. Knowing when to disappear was a useful skill, and if he ever met that tall, fearsome vampire again, he didn't want his face associated with tonight, even though the boy had lived.
She sat in front of the glowing screen in the dark, curious, observing, although there was nothing much to see now. Valentin had long since gone; he was always sensible. Their alliance would be useful in many ways. She would visit him tomorrow. In the meantime she allowed herself to indulge her strange compulsion to watch them in their room through the hidden cameras from this place, far removed in the cellar of the house, simply because she could, although nothing useful would be gained here. She'd not been assigned to do this, and technically she should not be down here at all, but she wasn't worried. She had the only key, and nobody would be looking for her. In any case the recording equipment was not on. She merely wanted to know … she was trying to understand what she saw. But she could not.
They lay in the bed, very still, although she knew the vampire was awake, curled protectively around the boy who was now sleeping. She had a choice of cameras, and she'd pushed the various buttons earlier, following them, listening to them. When they'd arrived the two vampires had spoken in some secret language, probably ancient. The older one had left shortly thereafter. The one who stayed, the boy's rightful master, had unwrapped him then and looked him over quickly but carefully, his face unreadable as he turned him, his face close to the boy's skin, appearing to tally the hurts, which, while many, were not so bad, and would soon be gone. He'd a time of it after that; the boy was still unconscious as the vampire had held his head up and fed him the first drops of his blood, with great care, so that he would not choke. Then he'd awakened and meekly swallowed, and soon enough he began to heal, he needed very little blood, after all, from a vampire this old. The wounds - the bruises, and the cuts, the many puncture marks -- had faded slowly at first and then more rapidly. It was still magical to watch, even for her, as many times as she'd seen such things. The power of their blood. If they weren't careful, the humans would kill them all for it. Humans were like that, rapacious, always taking more than they needed. She had learned that lesson early on, while she herself was still one of them.
Then the vampire had carried him to the bath, had rolled up his sleeves and washed him. He spoke to him the entire time in a low, gentle tone, saying the same things over and over - that he was here, that the boy was safe, that he would be all right - which was obvious enough; she wondered for a moment whether the boy was possibly a mental defective; but no, this must be the vampire's way of soothing him. The boy said nothing, only flinching occasionally under his hands. This vampire, who had killed dozens (hundreds?) of his own kind, and countless humans, in every possible fashion, who had done things that were terrible even by their standards, had knelt beside the tub and sponged the boy, had washed his hair, had pressed his lips to the back of the boy's neck and held him up as he poured the water over him, rinsing him clean. He had drained the tub of its dirty water and filled it again and washed him again, as if he were trying to rinse away everything that had happened and send it down the drain with the bathwater.
He'd not glamoured the boy yet. This was interesting. She'd have done it straight off, after the bath, when they were back in bed and the child finally emerged from his passive, mute torpor and began to scream, great sobs and wails that forced her to turn the volume down on the monitor temporarily. It made her head throb. It was fortunate that the room was soundproof. He was crying and babbling almost incoherently about everything that had happened to him, information which was hardly surprising and much of which the vampire already knew, having looked him over; she doubted he wanted to hear it spelled out like that. At one point the boy said oden, something about oden, as he wept, inconsolable, clutching at the vampire who held him close and stroked his back and petted him, letting him weep and wail as he whispered to him. Although the boy himself couldn't see the vampire's face for much of that time, being held the way he was, she had an unobstructed view on the monitor. At one point she saw him quickly wipe away a tear. She couldn't have been more surprised if he'd sprouted wings and a tail. What was this?
She watched awhile longer, waiting to see if they would do anything else interesting. The boy opened his eyes from his sleep and raised his head and looked around, groggy. Suddenly he threw back the covers and bolted toward the bathroom. She didn't switch the camera view; whatever had caused him to head that way in such haste she had no interest in seeing. His master followed immediately; soon enough came the sound of retching, which went on for awhile, and then it was back to the weeping again. How tedious. She couldn't imagine how the vampire put up with it.
Eventually they emerged, the vampire slowly helping the boy along, who still didn't seem to be functioning correctly. Maybe they'd drugged him after all. They were both naked, the vampire having shed his clothes before climbing into bed earlier. She adjusted the camera slightly and smiled. Mad and reckless as that vampire clearly was, it took no imagination to see why he'd been made, if she understood his maker's proclivities. He was easy on the eyes, and nicely equipped to boot. Her focus moved back to the boy. Healed now, he was … nothing special. Nothing special at all. He wasn't ugly. His body was trim and athletic. But he was rather small. His face was interesting rather than handsome, or even pretty, and it was splotchy and puffy from all the crying and the vomiting, which did him no favors. On the other hand … she studied him, considering. She'd only seen the maker once, in the room, and she knew enough about him to view him as he was, which was very old and exceedingly dangerous. But the boy had the look of him somehow, the same coloring and height, the same slender, graceful build. Even their hair was cut similarly. This was it, then. The old familiar package, in a human form he could dominate completely. That was a motivation she understood.
Not that there was much of that domination on display here. It vexed her. She kept humans herself; they were often useful, although they outgrew that usefulness sooner than she liked. These two vampires, she'd heard, kept no mortals in that way at all. They had humans working for them, naturally, but they were rumored to be paid employees rather than proper servants. How very odd. And now, here was this boy, who didn't appear at all grateful to have his life, so dearly bought. She wondered if he had any concept of what it had cost his master, the absurdities that had been gone to. He was not thanking his master properly at all in her view; now that he was healed he ought to be there in the bed demonstrating his gratitude in whatever ways the vampire most enjoyed, rather than sobbing quietly into his shoulder as he was doing. She'd have liked to watch a bit of that gratitude; she'd expected it. And she was beginning to believe she wasn't going to get it.
The boy became quiet again, asleep or simply worn out. There was a knock at the door to their room; the vampire raised his head. After an appropriate pause a girl came in. She asked if they needed anything. She was very pretty; she'd do well enough for a snack. But the vampire only asked for a Coke, with some ice, in a not especially friendly tone. The girl looked a bit confused, then took the hint and went. Well, perhaps he wasn't hungry. The boy, still pulled against his chest and barely visible under the blankets, didn't move at all. Once again she was struck by the way the vampire seemed to enfold him; it was both possessive and protective, as if that silly child were the most precious thing he owned. He waited a long minute after the girl left to lower his head again, shifting the boy closer (if such a thing was even possible) as he did so.
She pressed the button on the monitor and the image disappeared. It was very late now; she needed to go. Those two would spend the day here sleeping and would no doubt be leaving early tomorrow night; she couldn't imagine that they'd stay any longer than they had to. The boy needed clothes, but someone else would see to that. She had more important things to think about. Like Valentin. And what their plans would be, now that certain things had come to pass. He had a right to it, after all that he had done. Having shared in his suffering these past few years, she was looking forward to the spoils.
Author: septemberoses
Fandom: True Blood/En Forelskelse crossover
Rating: R for sexual assault (implied), hurt/comfort
Pairing: Eric/Carsten/Godric, sort of
Word Count: 5400
Warning: This fic contains sexual assault, although it's both implied and related after the fact.
Note: Two people asked me for this fic some time ago when I was first writing Eric/Carsten. Having found an angle that interested me, I did it as a writing exercise. (Yes, another long, miserable, angsty fic - it's that time of year, apparently.) As it doesn't fit in at all with my established LJ canon, perhaps it's just a terrible dream. There will be another, related fic after this one. Special thanks to keenoled for helping me with some details.
Valentin drove his Mercedes-Benz through the dirty, slush-covered streets, past the dreary, darkened warehouses, lost in thought. He knew what had to be done, and he would do it, although he found it both distasteful and beneath him. If it prevented further bloodshed, or an all-out war, it would be worth it. He hoped he was not too late. He had his doubts.
The whole affair seemed faintly ridiculous to him. If someone had told him all this as a story he'd have laughed and shook his head in disbelief at the folly of it. Of course they shouldn't have done it; the boy was marked, he belonged to another. But the spoilage rate on humans was effectively one hundred percent. They fell on their heads, or lost their blood, or became useless in any of a dozen other ways. And when that happened, as it invariably did, you went out and got yourself another. It was like watching grown men argue over an insect. If it had been something else - tribute, say, or gold, or trading routes, or some other source of income - he'd have understood the dispute. But this? This was beyond the pale. He shook his head. Was this what the old alliances had been reduced to? How things had changed.
Valentin had only heard bits of the story at first, as rumor; he doubted even he knew the whole of it now. A Danish boy had been snatched in the Gothenburg rail station, and his owner - that mad American viking, who was there on business - had insisted that he'd been taken by vampires, with the Gothenburg organization emphatically denying it. Then, apparently, those at the top had got the unhappy word that perhaps the boy had in fact been taken by vampires - and even worse, some of their own, although the gang in question was so low in stature and so invisible within that large city that finding them was like hunting for cockroaches. The city bosses had begun a frantic search, pressing everyone beneath them, looking for the boy - something Valentin thought privately that they might have done when he'd first disappeared, as a gesture of goodwill if nothing else.
Then several days were spent with each side - the bosses and the viking, who had his own ancient networks here in Sweden - casting their respective nets wide over the city. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. In truth they could have taken the boy anywhere by then, out of the country, even. Valentin thought it highly likely that the cockroaches, having discovered their grave mistake, would have cut their losses, gotten rid of the boy's body where it would never be found, and then deny they'd ever had him.
Valentin was phoned and called in directly for a private meeting, which was where he learned most of this surprising information. He waited patiently until at last he was told why he was there - it seemed that the boy was, miraculously, alive and might soon be returned, but in the meantime Valentin was to go at once as mediator and begin to attempt some amends on behalf of Gothenburg for this terrible mistake, before the viking made good on his threats to tear the city apart - for a boy, of all things.
The entire episode was a nightmare. Those at the top were not precisely responsible for what had happened; being neither suicidal nor stupid, they'd never deliberately provoke the wrath of the viking, with whom they had a cordial relationship, or the other, his maker, who was even more ruthless and venal. But Gothenburg should have been running things better. They should have put the screws on and tightened them until those vampires produced the missing property, and quickly. The viking was said to be furious with the way things had been handled on their end, and understandably so; it showed a certain laxity. No doubt that would be looked into.
Those two vampires, though - the viking and his maker -- everyone knew they were the byword for perversion, the one still kept by the other, their bond unbroken, a ludicrous proposition in itself. He'd not believed it the first time he'd heard. If it had been his child he'd have exerted some discipline in the situation, injected some reason. You didn't make these kinds of threats, you didn't behave this way over a boy, no matter how you fancied him. Boys were expendable goods with an extremely short shelf life, after all, and there were hundreds - no, thousands - of boys in this city who would have done just as well. But no, they had to have this boy. Or else.
At least Valentin had had the good fortune to meet with the elder one, the maker, the American sheriff with all sorts of valuable connections who was nonetheless still capable of reason --- unlike, apparently, the other. Valentin had spoken with him at length, had begun to untangle the mess and sort out what might be done to make amends. He had suggested, delicately, after the appropriate amount of discussion had taken place, that a more logical approach might be to seek reparations from Gothenburg for the offense, such as it was. The goods were, as he had sensibly if obliquely pointed out, quite likely to be sufficiently damaged so as to be of little further interest, although this he had not seen firsthand and had no immediate way of verifying. He had a figure in mind which he named, one that had been given to him privately, and one that he found generous to the point of obscenity. He'd waited as the other vampire considered the offer.
Valentin knew himself to be in no personal danger - he was the designated mediator, having no vested interest in the doings of either side, and he was there in a capacity that afforded him immunity and protection, regardless of the outcome. But he had felt the hair rise on the back of his neck as he sat patiently, enduring the unblinking gaze of the vampire in the chair across from him. It was a strange sensation; he was not easily discomfited, although he knew the anger that burned there was not for him. No, came the considered answer, delivered courteously. They would have the boy, alive, and now. There was no need for further threats, and the vampire didn't bother making them. If these doings were incomprehensible to Valentin from a purely practical perspective, taken at face value it was all crystal clear. It would be the boy, or all hell would break loose.
He turned into the alley he'd been searching for, aware already that he was being watched by others who were expecting him, even though he couldn't see who or where they were. They wouldn't harm him either. Valentin knew that having been chosen as mediator was an honor, an acknowledgement of his diplomacy and his discretion. He'd assumed however that this particular chore would have been assigned to someone lower, although of course he hadn't complained. They had their reasons, even if he didn't know them … what a spectacularly ugly place this was. Hisingen, they called it. Just across the bridge from the city proper and a world apart, a place that nobody in their right minds ever went. So the boy had been hidden under their noses all along. Valentin hoped never to visit Hisingen again. He parked the car and killed the lights. There was no sense in delaying further.
"That's him, then. Good as gold, he's been." The vampire who'd slid open the locked steel door was shabbily dressed and thin, with a narrow face and mouse-colored hair. He was also grinning like the fool he no doubt was, given the circumstances. Valentin looked down toward the floor in the narrow room and frowned. The boy was still alive, curled up on a bare mattress which was heavily stained in a way that encouraged no further scrutiny. He was covered in puncture marks and scrapes and bruises, as much as Valentin could see of him. His lips were cracked and scabbed and his skin was mottled, and not just from the bruising; he looked blue with cold. He appeared unconscious. There was a small electric heater in the corner, but the room would be chilly to a human, and he was only partly covered by the dirty brown blanket, and likely naked underneath it. Valentin tilted his head. This was what all the fuss was about? This creature was no Helen of Troy, certainly. His heartbeat was rapid and faint; Valentin wondered when they'd last fed or watered him. There was nothing in the room to indicate that these things had been done recently, or at all. How long had he been missing? Almost a week. Well, he'd be dead by now if they hadn't given him something. Valentin wondered what else they might have given him.
"Have you put any drugs in him? Anything at all? I want to know." They'd want to know, and so he asked, although he wouldn't have bet any serious money on getting an honest answer. The boy had been fed off of, and the vampires around here (well, certain lower classes of vampires anywhere) liked to feed the humans drugs, or inject them, and then partake of the effects in the blood. He himself desired only untainted blood, and he was revolted by this practice, which had only grown more prevalent with the uneasy public coexistence that had been forged between humans and vampires. The humans had nobody but themselves to blame, so fond were they of polluting their frail bodies. These vampires obviously hadn't given their new toy any of their own blood to heal his wounds or prolong his survival, however briefly. Under the circumstances, that was probably best.
"Nay, not a thing, we just savored him a little," the vampire answered in his perplexing, uneducated patois. As pathetic as humans were, Valentin couldn't help but question why so many of the vampires he met had ever been made at all. Of course any ruler needed reliable underlings to do his dirty work, some aspects of that work being dirtier than others. An educated mind and an eloquent tongue weren't of much value there. But one did get the impression that little forethought had gone into many of the newer vampires around him. No wonder so many of them failed miserably at holding onto their own immortality; they were both greedy and inexpressibly stupid, as had been amply demonstrated by this particular chain of events. Other considerations aside, they could hardly have chosen a more dangerous pair to steal from. Valentin thought that, whatever the night's work brought, this gang of vampires would likely be among the less immortal. Well. No great loss.
"You're early," the vampire continued, almost apologetically. "We was going to throw him in the shower in back, rinse him off a bit first." Valentin suppressed a sigh. It was good, then, that he was early. He was almost sure there was no hot water to be found here. If they hadn't drowned the pathetic creature accidentally he'd likely have died from the shock. Really, these vampires were especially dim.
"There's no time for that, I'm to take him now. Where are his things?"
"His … things?" The other vampire looked at him blankly.
"His things." Valentin closed his eyes briefly, fighting his annoyance. "His … clothes, his wallet, and what have you. Whatever he had on him when you took him."
"Oh. His things." The vampire looked around the small, barren room as if waiting for these things to magically present themselves. "Honest, I don't know. I don't think - we haven't got anything like that here." Perhaps they'd had him stashed somewhere else first; perhaps they'd disposed of his possessions, which couldn't have been worth much. It wasn't worth arguing over, and this cretin was unlikely to be of help. There was no point in dressing the boy now anyway, and Valentin wouldn't have been inclined to do so if his clothes had been sitting right there in a heap.
"Never mind. I'll just wrap him in the blanket."
"I still don't think it's right." The man looked at him indignantly with his small, stupid eyes. "What you're doing. He's ours, fair and square."
Valentin gazed at him, impassive, speaking quietly and with authority. "The arrangements have been made. You know it. Your masters have agreed. Go find something else to amuse yourself with." If you're lucky, he thought to himself, the others won't find out who you are, because I know they're looking. And I'm not sure you've ever been that lucky. But those thoughts were his alone. He wasn't here to quibble. He wrapped the boy's limp body in the dirty blanket and picked him up. If his own luck held, and the child managed to cling to life in the car on the way back to his rightful owners, Valentin's part in this charade would be finished. The next time he needed a favor, his work tonight, and on the nights prior, wouldn't be forgotten. The boy's owners would honor the spirit of the agreement if not the fine print. There'd be no war. What might happen to these particular vampires, if their names became known through sources other than him, was another matter. And not his concern. If they were all staked, they deserved it, for nothing more than their own idiocy.
He unlocked his car and put the boy on the back seat, trying not to mind the stink. If they truly hadn't drugged the child it was plain enough what else they'd done; he reeked of sex, along with the distasteful smells one might expect given the dismal conditions in which they'd kept him. Valentin would have been shocked if they hadn't used him like that, unappetizing as the thought was. He preferred his humans freshly showered (not to mention female, and willing rather than glamoured - he had his own regular arrangements.) Perhaps they'd glamoured the little wretch first in their crude way but he doubted it. With this class of vampire, they'd enjoy his terror and his pain along with the sex and the blood, which Valentin hoped wasn't seeping out of him even as he lay there; it would be annoying to have him die now after all their trouble. He'd have to get the car cleaned as it was, and likely his suit, to get rid of the smell. He was tempted to wind the window down, but there was no use taking the risk of killing the boy off now in the cold. He gritted his teeth and turned the heat on full blast. When he reached the main road, Valentin pulled the cell phone from his coat and dialed the number programmed in there.
"I've got the package," he said, into the answering silence. "I'm on my way." There was no response, nor did he expect one. He hung up and returned the phone to his pocket and turned on the radio. He had a long drive ahead of him; perhaps he could listen to something soothing as he went.
The house was large, set well back from the road behind an ancient hedge and with an armed guard at the gate, which Valentin knew was the least of it. There was security all over the grounds. They were well away from Gothenburg and the residents had no direct ties to the city; as far as Valentin knew the bosses were still concealing where the boy had been all this time, trying to mitigate their own organizational culpability or gross ineptitude, depending on how one looked at it. He was directed at the guardhouse to follow the drive to the service entrance around back. Well, they'd hardly want him trooping in the front door, would they? That door swung open before he reached it, the boy in his arms, his face hidden by the blanket. He followed the vampire down the hall, resisting the urge to glance about at the artwork along this dark galley before being ushered through yet another door, into a small hall, and then to the room that was, apparently, their destination.
There was a fire burning in the fireplace, beneath a fine old stone mantel, not too fussy, but he tore himself away from those details and smiled at the blonde vampire waiting, her legs curled up, as always, beneath her in the plush chair.
"And about time," she said. "How is he?"
"Alive." There was a bed and a recamier. He chose the bed and deposited the boy, still wrapped up, on the heavy silk coverlet. The room was lovely, all apricots and creams that glowed in the firelight.
"Did you speak to him?"
"No, he's quite beyond that now." Perhaps he should place the boy under the coverlet? He was at a loss here. He was no nursemaid. The sooner he was done and gone, the better.
She had risen and was standing next to him, looking down at the boy; then she pulled the blanket partly aside. His color was less wretched, Valentin could see. The warmth of the car must have done him some good. He'd stirred briefly once or twice in the back seat, but that had been all. He was still unconscious.
Her fingertips rested for a moment on the back of Valentin's hand. He was suddenly, painfully aware of the way he smelled.
"Is there anything else? Anything else I should know?"
He shook his head, still looking down. Whatever was to be known was already written there on that small, battered body.
"Not really. They said he hadn't been drugged; they might be lying, of course. They didn't have his things. I only spoke to the one, who complained about the terms, the idiot, but they were all there, skulking about out of sight. There was no trouble. I hurried, since the boy was still alive. Although he looks better now … well, they kept their side, you're the witness." Indeed it appeared at this moment that the boy would live, his injuries, extensive though they might be, requiring nothing more than a vampire's blood to heal. Certainly some glamouring looked to be in order after he awoke.
"See the way they've bitten him." She sounded withdrawn. He knew what she meant. If the punctures had been done efficiently he'd have died long ago, drained of all his blood. There weren't just puncture marks but shallow scrapes and literal bites - there were teeth marks as well. The punctures were deliberately placed well away from the veins, some in places that were especially painful. They'd done it for the sport of it, taking only a little at a time, drawing it out.
"They're fools, all of them," she said quietly. "You should go. They're on their way here now. Also, stop by the front parlor and say hello." So. He kept the smile from his face. There was the other business to discuss after all; he knew who would be waiting. Perhaps the boy had brought some luck with him. This augured well. It was a pity he didn't have time to change first, but there was nothing to be done for it.
Valentin was standing with the others after his private audience, warming his back discreetly in front of the fire in the drawing room; he was tired, and the night was bitterly cold, he could hear the wind picking up. He was elated, although his expression revealed nothing. The trip had been well worth it, even with the added, unexpected complication of tonight's business. If everything fell into place as it should -- and he would think on that further tomorrow, he was nothing if not cautious -- he would be a rich vampire indeed.
The heavy drapes framing the arch to the inner foyer swayed as the great door was opened down the hall. Another group of vampires was entering; soon they were in clear view of those already in the drawing room. The new arrivals stopped and remained in the foyer, waiting; he knew immediately who they were. He looked at them impassively along with the others. Vampires didn't startle easily but he saw eyes blink around him, which said enough. Others knew them, if not why they were here.
They'd brought their thugs along, the usual sort. Here was the small vampire in front, the American sheriff whom he'd met already, who looked at them as a group, not singling Valentin out in any way. They nodded politely. Valentin was curious, wondering which the other might be. He didn't have to look long. It must be the tall one, in the leather jacket, with the untidy blond hair that wanted a decent haircut. He didn't appear all that different from the others until you looked at his face. It held a kind of cold, blank rage which made Valentin want to back away, although he didn't, not wanting to draw the vampire's attention. He looked manifestly evil; and yet he didn't seem the type to kick up such a fuss over one worthless human.
Valentin had heard the stories; nobody could say which of the two would be worse to cross, but in that moment he'd have put his money on the younger one, standing there with his fists clenching and unclenching, impatience and menace rolling off of him in waves that shook the air around him as he stared ahead, ignoring them. They said he was old, and wily, and rich as Croesus however badly he dressed, and that his reach was as long as his memory. He was there to collect the boy.
Valentin looked away. Those vampires in the warehouse were as good as finished, he could see that now. If their masters had any sense, they'd do them a kindness and stake them themselves before the viking got ahold of them. Although he knew he was blameless for what had happened, he decided he'd slip out discreetly as soon as the foyer was empty. He'd survived longer than many already. There had been setbacks, and he'd made his way more by his wits than his money quite recently. Knowing when to disappear was a useful skill, and if he ever met that tall, fearsome vampire again, he didn't want his face associated with tonight, even though the boy had lived.
She sat in front of the glowing screen in the dark, curious, observing, although there was nothing much to see now. Valentin had long since gone; he was always sensible. Their alliance would be useful in many ways. She would visit him tomorrow. In the meantime she allowed herself to indulge her strange compulsion to watch them in their room through the hidden cameras from this place, far removed in the cellar of the house, simply because she could, although nothing useful would be gained here. She'd not been assigned to do this, and technically she should not be down here at all, but she wasn't worried. She had the only key, and nobody would be looking for her. In any case the recording equipment was not on. She merely wanted to know … she was trying to understand what she saw. But she could not.
They lay in the bed, very still, although she knew the vampire was awake, curled protectively around the boy who was now sleeping. She had a choice of cameras, and she'd pushed the various buttons earlier, following them, listening to them. When they'd arrived the two vampires had spoken in some secret language, probably ancient. The older one had left shortly thereafter. The one who stayed, the boy's rightful master, had unwrapped him then and looked him over quickly but carefully, his face unreadable as he turned him, his face close to the boy's skin, appearing to tally the hurts, which, while many, were not so bad, and would soon be gone. He'd a time of it after that; the boy was still unconscious as the vampire had held his head up and fed him the first drops of his blood, with great care, so that he would not choke. Then he'd awakened and meekly swallowed, and soon enough he began to heal, he needed very little blood, after all, from a vampire this old. The wounds - the bruises, and the cuts, the many puncture marks -- had faded slowly at first and then more rapidly. It was still magical to watch, even for her, as many times as she'd seen such things. The power of their blood. If they weren't careful, the humans would kill them all for it. Humans were like that, rapacious, always taking more than they needed. She had learned that lesson early on, while she herself was still one of them.
Then the vampire had carried him to the bath, had rolled up his sleeves and washed him. He spoke to him the entire time in a low, gentle tone, saying the same things over and over - that he was here, that the boy was safe, that he would be all right - which was obvious enough; she wondered for a moment whether the boy was possibly a mental defective; but no, this must be the vampire's way of soothing him. The boy said nothing, only flinching occasionally under his hands. This vampire, who had killed dozens (hundreds?) of his own kind, and countless humans, in every possible fashion, who had done things that were terrible even by their standards, had knelt beside the tub and sponged the boy, had washed his hair, had pressed his lips to the back of the boy's neck and held him up as he poured the water over him, rinsing him clean. He had drained the tub of its dirty water and filled it again and washed him again, as if he were trying to rinse away everything that had happened and send it down the drain with the bathwater.
He'd not glamoured the boy yet. This was interesting. She'd have done it straight off, after the bath, when they were back in bed and the child finally emerged from his passive, mute torpor and began to scream, great sobs and wails that forced her to turn the volume down on the monitor temporarily. It made her head throb. It was fortunate that the room was soundproof. He was crying and babbling almost incoherently about everything that had happened to him, information which was hardly surprising and much of which the vampire already knew, having looked him over; she doubted he wanted to hear it spelled out like that. At one point the boy said oden, something about oden, as he wept, inconsolable, clutching at the vampire who held him close and stroked his back and petted him, letting him weep and wail as he whispered to him. Although the boy himself couldn't see the vampire's face for much of that time, being held the way he was, she had an unobstructed view on the monitor. At one point she saw him quickly wipe away a tear. She couldn't have been more surprised if he'd sprouted wings and a tail. What was this?
She watched awhile longer, waiting to see if they would do anything else interesting. The boy opened his eyes from his sleep and raised his head and looked around, groggy. Suddenly he threw back the covers and bolted toward the bathroom. She didn't switch the camera view; whatever had caused him to head that way in such haste she had no interest in seeing. His master followed immediately; soon enough came the sound of retching, which went on for awhile, and then it was back to the weeping again. How tedious. She couldn't imagine how the vampire put up with it.
Eventually they emerged, the vampire slowly helping the boy along, who still didn't seem to be functioning correctly. Maybe they'd drugged him after all. They were both naked, the vampire having shed his clothes before climbing into bed earlier. She adjusted the camera slightly and smiled. Mad and reckless as that vampire clearly was, it took no imagination to see why he'd been made, if she understood his maker's proclivities. He was easy on the eyes, and nicely equipped to boot. Her focus moved back to the boy. Healed now, he was … nothing special. Nothing special at all. He wasn't ugly. His body was trim and athletic. But he was rather small. His face was interesting rather than handsome, or even pretty, and it was splotchy and puffy from all the crying and the vomiting, which did him no favors. On the other hand … she studied him, considering. She'd only seen the maker once, in the room, and she knew enough about him to view him as he was, which was very old and exceedingly dangerous. But the boy had the look of him somehow, the same coloring and height, the same slender, graceful build. Even their hair was cut similarly. This was it, then. The old familiar package, in a human form he could dominate completely. That was a motivation she understood.
Not that there was much of that domination on display here. It vexed her. She kept humans herself; they were often useful, although they outgrew that usefulness sooner than she liked. These two vampires, she'd heard, kept no mortals in that way at all. They had humans working for them, naturally, but they were rumored to be paid employees rather than proper servants. How very odd. And now, here was this boy, who didn't appear at all grateful to have his life, so dearly bought. She wondered if he had any concept of what it had cost his master, the absurdities that had been gone to. He was not thanking his master properly at all in her view; now that he was healed he ought to be there in the bed demonstrating his gratitude in whatever ways the vampire most enjoyed, rather than sobbing quietly into his shoulder as he was doing. She'd have liked to watch a bit of that gratitude; she'd expected it. And she was beginning to believe she wasn't going to get it.
The boy became quiet again, asleep or simply worn out. There was a knock at the door to their room; the vampire raised his head. After an appropriate pause a girl came in. She asked if they needed anything. She was very pretty; she'd do well enough for a snack. But the vampire only asked for a Coke, with some ice, in a not especially friendly tone. The girl looked a bit confused, then took the hint and went. Well, perhaps he wasn't hungry. The boy, still pulled against his chest and barely visible under the blankets, didn't move at all. Once again she was struck by the way the vampire seemed to enfold him; it was both possessive and protective, as if that silly child were the most precious thing he owned. He waited a long minute after the girl left to lower his head again, shifting the boy closer (if such a thing was even possible) as he did so.
She pressed the button on the monitor and the image disappeared. It was very late now; she needed to go. Those two would spend the day here sleeping and would no doubt be leaving early tomorrow night; she couldn't imagine that they'd stay any longer than they had to. The boy needed clothes, but someone else would see to that. She had more important things to think about. Like Valentin. And what their plans would be, now that certain things had come to pass. He had a right to it, after all that he had done. Having shared in his suffering these past few years, she was looking forward to the spoils.