Chapter Text
"It is not these well-fed long-haired men that I fear, but the pale and the hungry-looking."
Julius Caesar
Dr. Lydia Asher walked quickly down the platform of Oxford's Great Western station. Most of the passengers had already boarded the last train to London, so she was practically alone, her heels sounding preternaturally loud in the bitter stillness of the night. For once, Oxford's pernicious fog had not deigned to make an appearance, for which she was grateful. However, the regular billowing of steam and smoke from the idling locomotive attempted to fill the cavernous trainshed with its own pale, acrid imitation.
Without the use of her hated spectacles, Lydia had the impression that the two white-painted oil lamps on the front of the locomotive were winking at her through the regular purges of steam, so she hurried past the engine toward the center of the express train, knowing she'd need as few obstructions as possible to her extremely limited vision.
Once she had passed the worst of the obscuring steam and smoke, she stopped and looked around, searching for someone she had hoped would make an appearance this night.
No. Not someone. Some thing, she reminded herself firmly. Regardless of the fact that he'd treated her civilly the one and only time they'd met, he didn't merit any appellation of humanity, not after what he'd done to Jamie.
Lydia tapped her foot impatiently. Drat it all. After discovering that her husband wouldn't be able to accompany her this evening, she'd been certain he would appear. She didn't believe in coincidences, and the timing of Jamie's sudden inability to leave their house was too convenient, especially since this was the first time in months she'd been alone after sunset. If he'd merely wished to speak to Jamie alone, he'd need only wait until she had departed for London.
Jamie had explained how it was next to impossible for a mortal to find a vampire. "You have to let them find you," he'd said, and this was the first chance she'd had to contact the vampire since she'd learned of Jamie's malady.
However, she had 'promenaded' herself the entire length of the train platform twice now without success. At this point, all she could do was wait.
But she needed to speak to him, and if Jamie was correct in his suspicion that Don Simon was now residing in Oxford, this would be her last opportunity for weeks.
The vampire was certain to be aware of that as well.
For this reason, she'd been so confident of his appearance that she'd left her maid behind on the train so she could facilitate just such a meeting. It hadn't been easy. Ellen had always been the soul of propriety, and it had taken heroic measures on Lydia's part to convince her to wait for her in their compartment.
She had a few minutes left before she absolutely had to board, and she again cursed the timing of her cousin Emily's presentation. After Emily's mother had developed sciatica, Lydia's presence had been requested as a chaperone, but she had an infinitely more important task here in Oxford. Sometimes she despised the obligations of high society that made such requirements on her time, but then, if she hadn't grown up amongst privilege, it would have been nearly impossible to attain a medical degree at all.
And thus acquire the medical knowledge that had recently become of such dire importance.
Sighing, Lydia realized she couldn't wait any longer. She turned, preparing to head back to her carriage, and nearly collided with the silent form of Don Simon Ysidro, who was standing by her side as if he'd been there for hours and she had somehow, impossibly, failed to notice his presence.
She inhaled sharply, bringing one hand to her chest, and she had to employ all her formidable deportment skills to prevent herself from crying out. She would not give him that satisfaction. Jamie had told her what to expect, of course, but as with her medical experiments, the practical experience was distinctly different from any expectations derived from academic knowledge alone.
He waited politely for her to catch her breath, then said, "You wished to speak to me, Mistress Asher?"
She stood as tall as she could and said, "Yes, I did." She had to practically bite her tongue to forestall the 'thank you for coming' that polite society required, but she was not feeling the least bit courteous.
The vampire bowed his head slightly. "Then, I am at your service."
Even with her anxiety regarding Jamie's condition and her antagonism toward the vampire who had caused it, she still found it fascinating that his breath didn't crystallize in the air as hers did when he spoke.
But then, she only had to think of Jamie in a similar state, and suddenly it wasn't fascinating at all.
Lydia said, "If you are truly 'at my service,' then you will kindly leave my husband alone."
Anything that wasn't directly in front of her face was painfully indistinct, but he stood close enough that she noted his head tilting ever so slightly. Otherwise, he stood so still he might have been some ancient Greek alabaster statue come ever so fleetingly to life.
"Mistress, surely you must be aware I've not approached your husband since we last met in London, many months ago."
She eyed him belligerently. "Please do not mince words with me, Don Simon. Unless there is some other reason my husband finds himself physically unable to leave Oxford?"
The vampire did not move so much as an eyebrow, but Lydia still had the impression that he was both surprised . . . and pleased?
"I could not be certain that the directive would hold given his mortal state, but be assured that it was for his own safety."
The thought that Jamie was forced to obey this vampire, or any vampire, caused her to nearly shake with impotent rage.
"What gives you the right?" she said tightly, attempting to keep her rampaging emotions in check. "Jamie tries to hide his fears from me, but he avoids silver as if it carries the plague, and he hesitates at the threshold every time he leaves the house while the sun is in the sky. Yet in all other ways, he is still mortal. What makes you so certain you even know what is 'safe' for him?" She lifted her chin, feeling her eyes sting with tears that she refused to shed. "He would never have willingly chosen to become one of you, Don Simon. Your world is not his."
He turned his head slightly, as if listening to something she could never hope to hear. She wondered if he were listening for her husband — if he were following his thoughts as a curious child followed the flight of an errant butterfly.
After what seemed an age, but was surely only a few moments, he said, "My world will almost certainly be his someday, mistress. Perhaps long after your own death from the ravages of age, but it will be." He focused his intense gaze upon her once more. "And thus, I dare not leave him alone, nor allow him to be unprepared for what surely is to come."
She closed her eyes briefly, hating the absolute conviction she heard in the vampire's soft voice. "And if I request that you leave him to the mortal world until such a time?" She paused. "I refuse to believe his fate is preordained, and thus he may never require your . . . instruction."
He was silent for long enough that the low-pitched whistle from the waiting train caused her to startle slightly.
Don Simon looked at her gravely. "Tell me this, mistress. If a fox gives birth to two cubs, neither of which survived to adulthood, would the vixen then neglect to teach her next litter what they needed to survive, assuming they too would not live to require that instruction?"
Lydia gasped. She couldn't help it. The misery of her miscarriage now months past still seemed to cling to her like the heavy drape of a funeral pall.
Simon's eyes widened, and he said quickly, "I am truly sorry, mistress. That was beyond thoughtless on my part." He bowed his head. "Perdón. "
"How did you . . .?"
"I feel James' emotions as if they were my own. His joy and anticipation followed so abruptly by his pain and despair for both you and another could only mean one thing." He bowed his head again. "My sincerest apologies, mistress, and my condolences for your loss."
Perhaps it was merely the noblesse oblige of the aristocrat whom he once was, but despite the near toneless quality of his speech, she could somehow feel the genuine sincerity behind his words.
She was still shaking inside, and she did not trust her voice to remain steady enough to berate him further. However, she had caught at least a glimpse of why her husband had, reluctantly, come to respect this man.
Or, at least, the man he had once been — 350 years and thousands of murdered lives ago.
Firming her resolve, she said, "I will continue to research James' condition. If I can find a medical remedy, I will use it."
Simon inclined his head briefly in acknowledgement. "If you can find a remedy for his condition, I will be the first to offer you my congratulations . . . and my thanks."
Lydia simply stared at him, assuming she must have somehow misinterpreted his words.
"You must understand, mistress. I will never regret my attempt to save your husband's life. Even though I was prepared to accept his death if he refused my offer of immortality, I nevertheless prayed with all my soul that he would consent to it."
He looked past her shoulder as he spoke, not at her face, and in a mortal man this would have been a sign of extreme discomfort. She didn't know what it portended for a vampire of his age and immense power. However, if it was a sign of discomfort, then its cause must be something beyond the pale to affect him so perceptibly.
"But I find I have unwittingly placed James in a peril the likes of which he has never faced before." Locking gazes with her again, he added, "And I fear I will be unable to protect him from the consequences of my own imprudence."
*****************************************
James Asher awoke to find Don Simon Ysidro sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed.
Once he'd discovered he was physically unable to leave his house, Asher had been expecting just such a visitation from the only being capable of controlling his actions in such a manner. He'd therefore left the oil lamp lit and hadn't removed his dressing gown, but he hadn't intended to fall asleep and wondered if he'd had some assistance with that.
Simon tilted his head like a curious bird. "You are vexed with me."
Asher pushed himself up until he was sitting against the headboard and said, "Perhaps it isn't customary to speak ill of the dead, but is there any other reason I shouldn't be vexed with you?" He indicated his current position with a wave of his hand. "Once I realized I was unable to pass the boundary of our property, I had to pretend illness to the servants to explain why I wasn't accompanying Lydia to the train station."
"Why need you explain anything to servants?"
"Because servants talk, Simon, and they've already seen enough strangeness in our household, thanks to your previous visitation here. I didn't want to supply them with anything more." He sighed. "At least, not until it becomes unavoidable. They would have definitely wondered why I wasn't escorting Lydia."
Simon raised a disdainful eyebrow, his reaction a relic from a bygone age where servants were seen and most definitely not heard.
Although mildly amused by this, Asher narrowed his eyes slightly and said, "Just as they would definitely talk if they knew I were entertaining a strange man in my bedroom."
He'd meant the comment as a jest, hoping to startle an unthinking confidence from the infuriatingly reticent vampire, but instead Simon merely stared at Asher intently.
Eventually, Simon said, "You need have no fear of that, James, as I have made certain your servants would remain asleep."
Feeling his eyebrows lift at the incongruously solemn reply, Asher nonetheless didn't pursue the matter further. They had far more important issues to discuss, after all.
He therefore stared hard into the amber eyes of the vampire perched so familiarly on his bed and said, "Why have I been unable to leave Oxford, Simon?" Crossing his arms, he added, "Actually, as if that weren't enough, why am I suddenly unable to leave my own bloody house?"
After long experience with Don Simon Ysidro, Asher recognized the calculations running through the vampire's eyes as to how much information he should impart, and when, but he was vexed enough with Simon that he wouldn't allow the evasion this time.
Asher glared at him. "You told me at our last meeting that I had the right to contact you now, but that means absolutely nothing if I'm unable to obtain information from you when you're sitting right in front of me."
Simon closed his eyes and said softly, "I am sorry, James. The habits of centuries are indeed difficult to dispel." He reopened his eyes and added, "The limitations on leaving your abode have now been lifted, but I had intended that particular restriction for this night only, regardless."
"Why?"
"Because of your lady wife. Due to her proximity to you, I occasionally sense her dreams as well." He hesitated, then continued, "And since dreams often reflect subconscious desires, I became aware of her wish to speak to me . . . alone."
Asher was shocked at Lydia's audacity at confronting a vampire in person, but then realized he should have expected her to do just that. She'd been horrified when Asher had informed her of his dire proximity to the Undead condition, and of course she'd decided to take matters into her own hands to protect him. Her courage and strength of will were two of the traits that had originally attracted him to her in the first place.
"She is indeed an exceptional woman," Simon said, as if he'd been following Asher's thoughts, and Asher realized with a start that he might have been doing exactly that. He had no idea how extensive the vampire's psychic abilities were, nor how much they had been strengthened through their unexpected and apparently unique bond.
"No, James, I cannot read your thoughts, but your emotions are as distinct as the spoken word to me."
Asher nodded his head, appreciating Simon's consideration, as he knew a vampire rarely felt the need to provide reassurance to a mere mortal. "What did Lydia want to speak to you about?"
"She wished me to know she was . . . displeased with my previous actions on your behalf." There was a ghost of a smile on his face before it returned to its usual impassivity. "And that she intended to find a cure for your affliction."
"I'm not surprised, considering she's converted one of the anterooms into a makeshift laboratory and has spent an inordinate amount of time there since I came back from London."
Asher looked over at the vampire, seated with his usual perfect posture but still seeming oddly ill at ease in Asher's presence. For some unfathomable reason, this saddened him. He hadn't realized he'd come to rely on their intense camaraderie that had engendered a feeling of relative safety, if not quite comfort, in the vampire's presence.
Sighing, Asher said, "I'm amazed she didn't ask for a sample of your blood, as she has mine, on numerous occasions."
"If she had, I would have granted her request, and gladly."
Asher felt his eyes widen. "Considering the consequences of Horace Blaydon's experiments with a vampire's blood, I thought that would be the last thing you'd agree to, regardless of the source."
Although Simon never made unnecessary movements, he seemed to abruptly stiffen into near immobility, and Asher's breath correspondingly quickened in response. He knew what that abrupt motionlessness inferred, as he had encountered it once before.
Many months ago, when Simon had reluctantly told him that he'd had, for all intents and purposes, made Asher his fledgling.
What could have possibly distressed the vampire enough to cause a similar reaction now?
"Why have you not allowed me to leave Oxford, Simon?"
"Because there are no vampires currently residing in Oxford." He paused, then added somewhat ruefully, "Other than myself, of course."
So. After Simon's obvious concern for Asher's safety he'd demonstrated at their last meeting, Asher had wondered if Simon had taken up permanent residence in this tranquil college town. He had somehow known that the vampire was nearby, even if he'd never actually seen him. But then, if a vampire of Simon's age and power didn't wish to be seen, he wasn't. It was part of what made them so exceedingly dangerous to humankind.
But it was also dangerous for a vampire to reside in such a relatively small town as Oxford. Unlike overpopulated London, this town was small enough that unexpected deaths would be noticed, and this was a risk that a cautious vampire like Simon would never take. He surely must have gone elsewhere to feed, which was in itself a perilous undertaking for a vampire.
Thus, it made absolutely no sense why Simon would intentionally restrict Asher, and thereby himself, to the confines of Oxford. "Why, Simon?" he asked again.
The vampire gazed at him expressionlessly for a few moments, then said, "I have never told you why I selected you as my human aide when the vampires of London were being slaughtered."
Familiar now with Simon's indirect replies to a question, Asher said patiently, "You told me you'd remembered a discussion about those who 'did good work' and chose me based on that recommendation."
Simon nodded, the slight motion wafting his fine, bleached hair forward to frame his face. "There were few suitable candidates, given the complexity of the situation. However, when you finally approached close enough for me to sense your psychic presence, I told myself I would be a fool to allow one such as you to ever know of our existence."
Asher said, "I thought as much myself actually, given my prior research on the supernatural. If anyone were prone to believing in the existence of vampires, and the importance of destroying them, it would be me. You took a great risk."
"That was not the reason for my reticence." Again, the vampire seemed to hesitate, and when he finally spoke, it was slowly, evidently choosing his words carefully. "On the train to London, the first night we met, you accomplished something I had never expected from a human, especially after such a short exposure to our abilities." He paused again, and Asher raised an inquiring eyebrow in encouragement. "You blocked my control of your mind when you escorted that . . . woman out of our compartment."
"I had thought you were merely making a point and had only allowed me do so."
The faintest of smiles again. "Even so. But the fact that you had managed to oppose my control at all surprised me in a manner I had not experienced since I breathed my last as a mortal."
"I don't understand," Asher said, shaking his head.
Simon made a sound that might have been a sigh in a human. "It is difficult to explain. I have been a vampire for a long time, and our powers increase the longer we remain in this state. Therefore, one becomes complacent at the extreme ease of controlling a mortal's mind. But even back then, you were . . ." he paused again, "compelling in a manner that is difficult for a non-vampire to comprehend."
Asher narrowed his eyes in confusion. "I strongly doubt that 'compelling' applied to every vampire's opinion of me, considering how the Paris vampires and Grippen tried their damnedest to kill me."
"In actuality, it only proves my point. It did not require the entire nest to kill a mere mortal, yet they all clamored eagerly to participate. In fact, it was only their interference with each other that allowed me to remove you from their grasp long enough for Brother Anthony to carry you to safety."
Uncomfortable for reasons he couldn't quite fathom, and unable to remain seated any longer, Asher rose from the bed and stood silently by the window, gazing out at the impenetrable darkness beyond.
He didn't even hear Simon rise from the bed as well, but the lightly accented voice was directly behind him when Simon spoke again. "The psychic presence of humans varies to a great degree, depending on the mortal's strength of will. However, you have always possessed a somewhat mesmerizing psychic presence, as alluring as the mythical siren's call." He paused. "I have told you before that it is the psychic energy that feeds our abilities more than blood. Therefore, the choice of feeding on one such as you over a normal human would be like . . . your own preference for a lavish ten-course meal over a bit of stale bread."
"How very flattering," Asher said dryly.
He contemplated his unconcern at having such a dangerous predator at his unprotected back and idly wondered at what point this had happened, especially given his past experiences as an agent that had taught him never to take unnecessary risks.
As he considered Simon's words, however, Asher was struck by something else that made him very curious indeed. "You said, 'even back then.'" He turned to face the vampire. "Am I to assume something has changed since that time?"
"Yes," Simon said flatly. "Your psychic presence has grown since my first encounter with you. In fact, it has increased to such a degree that you practically glow like the Great Fire to one of my kind." He shook his head slightly. "It should not be even remotely possible since you are a blood maiden, even if you were not still implicitly mortal."
"'Blood maiden'?"
"A fledgling who has not yet made a human kill. Their psychic presence is nearly as dim as that of a human until that time."
Knowing Simon's extreme overprotectiveness of him, Asher now understood why Simon had required him to remain in Oxford. And why he had shifted his residence here as well. "You're saying my psychic presence is more like that of a 'blooded' vampire than a human's."
"Yes," Simon said. "I had thought at first your almost overwhelming presence in my mind was merely due to my connection to you. A master vampire is inordinately possessive and mindful of their fledglings, you see, especially when he is . . ." He paused briefly, then finished, "Especially when the master has created a fledgling for reasons other than a desire for property or some other inconsequential gain."
There was something Simon was not telling him, but then, that was often the case. Asher looked down into the eyes of this small, slight man with the ability to tear him in half as easily as Asher would tear a piece of cloth, and he wondered again at the intricacies of Fate that had brought them together, and the subsequent events that seemed determined to keep them together.
Bowing his head, Asher sighed, knowing nothing good could come of this new revelation.
Simon reached out to grip his shoulder, and Asher was startled into raising his eyes. The vampire touched him so seldom, and then generally only for the expedience of guiding him through some temporary veil of darkness.
"I am sorry, James," he said, his grip tightening slightly as if for reassurance. "I seem destined to cause you nothing but distress, but this was never my intention." The amber eyes normally reflected only the light, like a cat's, but this time Asher was certain he could discern contriteness within their depths. "You already know that many vampires covet the forbidden fruit of the psychic essence of another vampire, as Dennis Blaydon did, because the strength of a human's mind pales to that of a vampire's."
"Yet I am still mortal."
Simon nodded. "Yet you are still mortal, and thus you have become an almost irresistible temptation to those who hunt the night."