Chapter Text
He’d have to tell Priwen, eventually. He knew he would.
Carl Eldritch’s influence over Priwen had waned through the years, even if it had extended far beyond his death. Geoffrey had shored up the Guard’s foundations, forging it into something strong with all the advantages that modern technology had to offer. After fifteen years with him at the helm, all of his predecessor’s advisors were either retired or dead. More often the latter, considering their career path. McCullum’s inner circle was filled with people he trusted implicitly, people he would lay his life down for without hesitation.
If they were in battle, there would be no question. He’d die for any of his comrades in an instant, an honorable sacrifice and a martyr for their cause.
But could he trust them with a blade if he was the one staring it down? Could he deliver himself to Priwen, unsure of whether they’d grant him clemency for the crime of turning leech?
He growled softly, grudgingly reassured by the way the sound rumbled in his chest.
He knew he’d have to tell Priwen eventually. But ‘eventually’ was coming far faster than he’d like. McCullum was a visible and consistent presence among his people— going on patrols, eating with those who lived in the barracks at least a few times a week. Even falling in with Reid hadn’t stopped that. If anything, he had redoubled his efforts to be involved in the hive of headquarters that constantly buzzed with activity to compensate for it.
It was coming up on a week since he had, well, died. His second in command had visited the house he shared with Reid the night prior, worried about his absence. Walter Roberts had been polite to the doctor when he answered the door. Over the course of the years, Jonathan had largely earned Priwen’s trust; Geoffrey’s second was no exception. Reid saved lives, both in his capacity as a doctor and as an ally on hunts, and McCullum’s unspoken endorsement certainly helped that trust grow. He had seen the stars in the eyes of some of the younger recruits when Jonathan would enter a fight in a sweep of shadow and turn its tide. Those expressions always warmed his stomach with a smug sense of satisfaction.
But trust in a leech only went so far, and Geoffrey could sense the squad watching from the building across the street, waiting for any sign of trouble.
Reid had eventually hustled the man away, claiming Geoffrey was ill and promising to let them visit once his ‘fever’ had broken. Roberts had been reluctant to leave— jaw working in tandem with his mind as he debated digging in his heels, before relenting. The lieutenant said he’d be back tomorrow night to see McCullum no matter how sick he was.
That left Geoffrey with the question: what the hell was he supposed to do then?
~~~
Jonathan Reid, and all he entailed, introduced grey to the black-and-white mortality of Priwen. Even before sparing McCullum in the hospital, he had left every guard that confronted him alive— the worst of their injured only walking away with concussions or broken bones. He had even saved some of their squads, intervening in fights with feral Skals or furious Ekons when the odds were tipping against Priwen.
He wondered if the confusion that Reid left in his wake would be enough for Priwen to spare its fallen leader, or if his turning would be seen as the end result of a cruel Ekon’s long con, sending them both to the flames.
After Jonathan’s dramatic entry into London’s vampiric underbelly, the Guard had clawed for every shred of information they could, any speck of dirt they could use to condemn him: watching the hospital like hawks in search of unexplained deaths. Their informants reported nothing. Some members, while out of uniform, were approached by him and offered free medical treatment.
“On paper,” one member of his inner circle had lamented, “this man is a fucking saint.”
At the time, Geoffrey had been loath to agree with her, but was unable to find much evidence to the contrary. As he grew closer to Reid, he found himself grateful for the man’s implicit goodness, even as it was balanced against that dark hunger that all vampires faced. The fact that Reid hadn’t succumbed to it, even when he laughed with sharp teeth and embraced those predatory instincts in a relentless defense of London’s citizens, drew Geoffrey in faster than he could have imagined, and he had found himself falling into Jonathan’s gravity like the man was a star burning white-hot.
McCullum found himself pacing as he waited for Roberts to return the following night. Walt had been his brother-in-arms for over two decades now, and while Geoffrey would like to think he had matured past such petty emotions as fear, he was… apprehensive about the man’s reaction.
A knock on the door at a quarter past eight signalled the end to his brooding. He heard Jonathan answer the door with a polite greeting, motioning for Roberts to come inside to where the fireplace crackled. The house he lived in with Reid was nicer than any ramshackle building Priwen had used as headquarters, and through the wall that separated the sitting room from where he was crouched on the stairs, he could see his second sink into one of the plush chairs. Chairs that were almost never used by him or Reid— the both of them too often storming in complementary whirlwinds of activity to sit still.
He could hear the chatter through the walls, Reid’s polite offerings of tea or water being brushed off with increasing irritation. Jonathan was stalling for his sake, he realized with a pang of fondness.
But he could not put this off any longer— neither of them could.
Swallowing the emotions that lay like gravel in his throat, he made his way into Roberts’ field of view.
The man perked up upon seeing his commander enter the room. Wariness grew on his face as he watched Geoffrey’s too-smooth stride, the uncanny otherness that Priwen had been trained to pick out. It was subtle—Walter likely wouldn’t have been able to tell if he hadn’t been looking for it— but it was there.
His shoulders sagged in resignation. “I had a feeling this would happen eventually,” Walt sighed, “I’d been hoping I was wrong.”
McCullum had stopped as soon as the recognition had settled on his second’s face, wanting to reach out to his friend and flee the room (hell, the country) in equal measure.
Jonathan, as was his habit, hovered. Geoffrey caught his maker’s eye and jerked his head towards the door.
Will you be alright? The question was set in the draw of Reid’s brow.
Geoffrey arched his own brow in response. You’ll be able to tell if I’m not, won’t you? As if to punctuate their unspoken exchange, McCullum tugged on the bond between them.
The two had spent the past few evenings — between their rounds of what seemed to be every rat’s nest in London and cathartic sparring sessions where McCullum learned to wield his newfound strength — puzzling out the links that anchored a Maker and their Progeny. It was a matter of the blind leading the blind, but at least they could control when the other heard their thoughts, now.
Roberts watched their silent back-and-forth with an unreadable expression, not even blinking when the doctor cast a dubious look back towards him and left the room.
McCullum felt his shoulders hunch despite himself. “Hey, Walt,” he said in a voice rough with emotion.
There was grief in the man’s eyes as he asked, “What happened to you, McCullum?”
“The short of it?” he barked out a short, bitter laugh, “Leech got me. Reid got the leech.”
“And then?”
The brittle façade cracked when confronted with Roberts’ unwavering tone. Geoffrey had always been able to tell what his second was thinking, since the times when it was just the pair of them running amok across the British Isles— two young men with righteous anger in their hearts and weapons in their hands.
But now? Walt may as well have been pointing a loaded gun at him, for all the familiarity his tone held.
McCullum spread his hands. “I was dying. Reid turned me. Didn’t have much say in the matter, to tell you the truth. But now that it’s happened, I can’t bring myself to regret it either.”
Roberts watched him, searching for… Geoffrey couldn’t tell what. A hint of deception, maybe, or some brand beneath his skin that marked him as a demon wearing a friend’s face. The tension drew taut as a bowstring between them.
Geoffrey didn’t want to fight, but God, he didn’t want to die either.
Whatever his second was looking for, he evidently didn’t find it. Roberts slumped back into his seat with a muttered curse, and Geoffrey felt himself relax despite it all— relieved that he at least recognized this expression on his second, that he wasn’t going to face his reckoning at his closest friend’s hands tonight.
Walt looked up from where he had been scrubbing his face in frustration. “Reid turned you without your permission?” he asked sharply, once again leaning towards McCullum.
“He’s making up for it,” was the obscure response. That did not seem to satisfy the man, but he pursed his lips and continued on.
“Have you killed anyone?”
“No, and I’m not going to.” Of this, at least, McCullum was sure.
Walt huffed a laugh, but the sound was hollow. “All leeches say that, didn’t you know?”
McCullum didn’t have an answer for that. It was true, every leech (aside from Reid, and even he had killed when he was first brought into this world) swore that they would never harm a soul, that they were more than just ravening beasts, and then the second you gave them an inch, they took the opportunity to sink their fangs into your throat.
“I don’t know what I can say to that. I know that truth as harshly as you do.” Roberts tensed minutely as Geoffrey started moving again, only for the newly turned vampire to drop down into the chair across from him. “I still feel like myself, if it’s any comfort. Not sure what I was expecting, but it’s not like my morals got sucked out through a drainpipe.”
“So what’s changed?”
McCullum’s dry snort was a familiar sound, and Walt noted the easy rise and fall of the man’s chest with relief. Despite everything, he was glad to be confronting him instead of a headstone.
“I feel so powerful it gives me shivers, every sense and reflex is sharper than ever… and my strength. I could be every leech’s worst nightmare like this,” Geoffrey confided. With the firelight flickering across his face, his leader looked… almost more alive than before; the man’s blue eyes shone with that same fervor that kept Priwen charging into battle without hesitation, knowing their commander would be right ahead of them bellowing a battle cry. Geoffrey shook his head, then kept speaking. “Before Reid, I would have said it was impossible. I would have begged you to kill me before I lost my humanity altogether.” A small smile settled on his face, more tender than Walt was used to seeing from the man. “But Jonathan loves to do the impossible, doesn’t he?”
“Jonathan fucking Reid,” Roberts groaned, “has given me more headaches than all the hangovers in my life combined.”
That surprised a laugh out of McCullum, and the last of the tension drained from the room even as the subtle points of Geoffrey’s canines caught the light.
Roberts leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose like he always did when he was planning. “You know, if I hadn’t been expecting it. I wouldn’t have been able to tell you went leech. You don’t give off the usual signs. Hell, even your… fangs— ” Walt’s speech stumbled a bit on the last word— “aren’t much sharper than a human’s.” McCullum ran a tongue over his teeth consideringly. They certainly felt plenty sharp. But Reid had commented something similar the previous night.
“Where are you going with this,” he asked slowly.
“I’m just saying, we might be able to get away without telling anyone. Pretend nothing’s changed. No need to rock the boat, right?” There was a hopeful note in Roberts’ voice, but McCullum was already shaking his head.
“And what, push this whole pile of shit further down the line? Wait a few years for people to notice I’m not aging? It’ll only take one slip for Priwen to realize, and I want to be in control of how the information gets out. Nah, it’s better to tell them now.”
“But—”
Geoffrey cut off his protests. “I’m not saying we need to hang a banner announcing it or anything, but we at least have to tell the inner circle. I trust you to talk your sister down.” He added with a wry smile; Harriet Roberts was a firebrand with a temper fit to rival McCullum’s. “The newbies shouldn’t be too hard to convince, I know half of them are in love with Reid already.”
Fond warmth stirred in McCullum’s chest as Walt reluctantly nodded his agreement. The man had always been the one to talk him out of his more boneheaded plans, and for him to agree without too much of a fight meant he was thinking along similar lines even as he tried to keep McCullum from revealing the truth. That he was willing to risk deceiving all of Priwen if it meant keeping Geoffrey safe. His smile died as he considered what the immediate future may hold.
“Walt,” he said urgently, “If Priwen won’t accept me as I am, I want you to take over.”
Walt looked like he wanted to refuse, but McCullum steamrolled past.
“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders and know when to fight and when to show mercy, more than I ever did. I’m trusting you with this.” He grabbed the man by his shoulders, ignoring how the drumbeat of his heart accelerated either from McCullum’s words or the contact.
“I can’t,” Roberts insisted, “This— Priwen is yours, Geoff, it always has been. I don’t think—”
“If I don’t know that you’ll be there to keep the whole place afloat if things go to shit when I tell Priwen the truth, I won’t be able to tell them. And you and I both know that lying to all of Priwen will only last for so long and turn out so much worse. Trust me, Walt. ”
Geoffrey didn’t realize at first that his friend’s eyes were glazed with mesmer, not apprehension at the daunting task he had placed before him. As the moment stretched and gained its own gravity, the import of what he’d done crashed into him with the force of a Priwen chaplain’s staff to the gut, and he snatched his hands away like he’d been burnt.
Walt blinked, coming back to himself as Geoffrey backed away in horror.
“Shit, Geoff—” he started, reaching out.
McCullum stumbled in his retreat before catching himself with inhuman grace. “Just— please, Walt. Promise me.” There was a raw sort of desperation in his voice even as he refused to meet his second’s eyes. McCullum had never begged a day in his life, too stubborn to do so even in the face of certain death, but he sounded near to it in that instance.
“Alright, Geoff, I promise,” he relented, and the man sagged in relief. “And here we thought we had put enough effort into resisting mesmerization, guess I should go back to training with the rookies.” It was a weak joke, but an attempt nonetheless.
“From what I’ve learned, it is easiest to mesmerize those who we know best. A quirk of our condition,” Reid added with a slight upturn of his lips.
Roberts failed to stifle a jump at the Ekon’s silent arrival, unnoticed until he chose to announce his presence.
“Were you listening the whole time?” It came out as an accusation, but frankly Walt’s patience with the doctor was stretched frighteningly thin.
The same doctor who had the gall to look affronted. “Of course not. My apologies, I felt—” he broke off, eyes darting towards McCullum, who had yet to emerge from his self imposed exile across the room.
Ah, there’s a bleeding psychic link between them. Of course. Reid was of ancient blood, Priwen had gathered enough information to be sure of that. But to know that a leech, no matter how much he respected the man behind the fangs, had a direct line to the head of the Guard’s thoughts; that was cause for concern.
Roberts decided he had had his fill of vampiric revelations for one night. Geoffrey was alive (for certain definitions of the term) and neither him nor Reid had snapped and gone on a murderous rampage. They could sort out informing the rest of Priwen another night, because if he had to listen to the doctor’s irritatingly composed voice for one more minute, he was going to be the one going on a murderous rampage.
“Would you like some tea, or coffee?” Reid had asked at the beginning of the night, as if he hadn’t been burning up with the urgency to make sure that McCullum was alive and could give a damn about coffee. “I’ve kept in the habit of making a cup every once in a while, a friend of mine had introduced me to the practice of simply enjoying the aroma. There’s also some of Geoffrey’s whiskey, but you’ll have to ask him about that.” He had prattled on as he guided him into one of the chairs by the fire. Roberts could’ve strangled the leech if he thought it would do anything, for stalling so obviously and for having a situation he felt the need to stall over.
And once he had successfully vented his frustration at the delay and his fury at Reid having turned McCullum, he’d likely end up sobbing at the man’s feet, too relieved that he wouldn’t have to bury his best friend to continue standing.
Neither of those options were ideal, so he summarily dismissed Reid from his attention and addressed Geoffrey, “I’ll be back tomorrow with Morgan to discuss how we’ll tell the rest of the Guard.”
Geoffrey nodded. “Bring Harriet too, she’ll need some time to convince and I want her on our side when we tell the others.”
Roberts grunted his assent, already dreading how he was going to explain this to his sister. He turned to leave, then paused in the doorway to look back at the two predators silhouetted by the firelight. “Just so you know, Geoff,” he said casually, “If you give that whiskey you can no longer drink to Morgan instead of me, I’ll stake you out for sunrise.”
Roberts began the trek to headquarters, warmed by McCullum’s barking laughter at his back.