Van Helsing

"How is it?" Edward asked, standing and picking his damp shirt up off the floor. "I guess I shouldn't have soaked this thing through now. I'll catch an awful cold if I wear it outside."

 

"In time," Lestat soothed, sensing John's tense attitude. "Are you planning to see her before they leave?"

I'd love to see how she reacts to him, he thought, sneering in his mind. Entertainment I haven't had in over fifty years!

 

"Only if I can get her alone. Otherwise, I'll see her at their first stop when she goes 'hunting'." John replied. "I could use my gift, but I'd rather not seeing at the mutt can hear thoughts."

"It's just a dull pain now. It's the silver that causes the scar, not the magnitude of the injury." Hannah murmured in response. She looked up at Edward. "You know... you could wait until it's dry to put it back on. I mean, I wouldn't want you to get sick."

Beatrice's face was filled with intense focus. He's going too easy on me. I guess it would be cheating if I drew another blade....

 

"Go for it," Van Helsing muttered, happy, for once, that his mind could read hers. "I won't complain."

 

"I think you're just enjoying me not wearing a shirt," Edward smriked, leaning down to kiss her cheek. He walked over toward the door. "Are you okay leaving it unbandaged and walking to the carriages? I have no problem carrying you there and being half-naked at the same time. That would give them a great idea of what we've been up to..."

 

"I'd love to see you try it," Lestat teased, trying to provoke him. "I need to know more about these two and those around them before I can tell you how to undo them obviously. But first..."

He eyed the horizon, his gaze shifting back to liquid gold. The was finaly disappearing, the moon rising and the night swallowing the world once more. "Now it's my time... I'm still hungry, John, as I'm sure you can tell. But don't worry. If you can't get her alone before they leave, so be it. I will feed and then follow them. I suspect I shall see you at their next stop!"

With that, Lestat turned and stepped into the shadow of the nearest tree, disappearing into it, becoming part of the breeze and the shade of the night. With a soft, handsome chuckle, he was gone.

 

Beatrice stared at Van Helsing blankly for a minute. She was sure she hadn't spoken out loud. Nevertheless, she pulled out a knife from the other side of her belt. She carefully though through her options and chose the safest one. She caught Van Helsing's blade in an X formed from her own two.

John smirked. Judging by his stature, he'll be back soon. He leaned back against a tree and focused on the thought of Hannah.

Hannah smiled and stood. "I'm fine, really. It's just a bit sore, but I won't have to worry about that once we're in the carriage."

"Hannah," John knew Edward would probably hear, but he had a way to settle that. "Hannah, dear, if you'd be so kind as to join me for an evening stroll, I'd be more than happy to work out the details of our arrangement. Bring your little friend if it will make you more comfortable. Oh, and I'd love to know how that deer tasted."

Hannah cried out, clutching her head and sinking back onto the bed. "No..." She moaned.

 

Edward's smile vanished, his head aching suddenly. "Was..." he began, unsure. "That... Hannah," he went over to her, turning her to face him in his arms. "I could only hear parts... what did he say?"

 

"That was stupid," Van Helsing began, and, putting all his strength into his arms, spun them violently to throw her blades out of her hands, into the air, and slamming into the side of the carriage and to the ground.

"Never pull that one unless you know for a fact you are stronger than your opponent!" he lectured, and then lowered his blade.

 

Lestat glided through the shadows of the streets of Rome, ignoring the people that walked by him.

What's odd is I can help all of them, depending who I like more or who I'd like to eat, he laughed in his head. Ah, he sighed mentally, suddenly seeing something intesting.

A small child was walking down the street, holding her mother's hand, no doubt on their way home from the market. The little girl looked only four or so, dressed in a small gown that was a light pink, bows on its hem and tied in her light blonde bouncing curls. She held a small basket in her other free hand, full of different kinds of fruit. The mother (Lestat groaned with hunger in his mind) was breathtakingly beautiful. Her attractive, curvy, slender body was cased in a sun-colored dress, a white cloak covering her hair, the same shade and style as her daughter's. They seemed to be heading to the south end of the city where there were many appartments and houses set up for middle-classed citizens.

Lestat followed them closely, drifting in the nearest shadow and easily hearing their conversation.

"Mary, dear," the mother scolded. "You've got to hold your new dress up, sweetheart! It's getting dark the streets are dirty from people's feet today!"

She let go of her mother's hand and did as she was told.

That's it, Lestat crooned in his mind, his mouth watering as he stared at the child's neck just visible under her curls. Let go of her mommy now... you won't have her much longer...

"Mama," Mary began now as they turned to a side street filled with small homes. Lestat grinned, her voice even sounding tasteful in his ears. "Tell me where Papa is again."

"Enough, Mary," the mother chided, stopping at a house and pulling a small ring of keys out of her pocket. She opened the door of the nearest house and they stepped inside. "He left to see his... his... friend, Cynthia... they... they aren't coming back..."

"Oh, dear," Lestat said, materializing out of the shadows and standing by the door. "This is a tradgic woman... she must need a man in her life."

He stepped up to the door, straightening his vest, shirt, and hair once more, and knocked.

"Good evening, miss," he began politely when the mother opened the door a crack, his smile making her ease her suspiscion easily. "I couldn't help but notice you in the market this evening, and you dropped this."

He plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out a bag full of Italian coins.

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, widening the door. "I did not know I dropped it! That is all my savings. Good sir, thank you so much!"

She took the pouch from Lestat and returned his grin.

"Anything to help a sweet lady," he murmured, bowing slightly, his tone sinking deeper, more seductive. She opened the door wider.

"My daughter and I have not yet eaten supper," the mother began now. "After the wondeful deed you've done the least I can do is give you a hot meal!"

Lestat chuckled deep in his throat, sighing with pleasure. "That, miss," he began, "would be a Godsend."

 

Hannah kept her hands on her head. "I didn't know he could do that.... He wants to meet with me. Now." She grimaced. "He said you could come."

Beatrice sighed. "I'll be sure to remember that."

 

"You're good, though," Van Helsing said, trying not to crush her spirit. "More than I expected."

 

"D.amn him," Edward snarled, swallowing a sudden growl that rose low in his chest. "I'll go with you, but we can't just leave here and not tell the others what's going on. We have to tell them something... and what the hell does he want from you, anyway?"

 

"You have a lovely home," Lestat began, watching the curve of the mother's hips as she walked forward into the kitchen. "I didn't catch your name, my dear."

"Susan," the mother said over her shoulder as she stepped to the stove. "My daughter is Mary. Every night I make her play the piano for an hour. We... well, now I have her take lessons every other day, and, since she didn't have one this morning, she plays what she knows now."

Lestat leaned against the doorframe leading into the kitchen and nodded politely. "I can play," he began, remembering all the times he had done so... with Claudia... after her attempted murder of him... for Louis... for himself... by himself, almost always...

"Really?" Susan exclaimed, turning again from the pot of water she was now heating on the stove. "God, you are a blessing! Mary!" She called. The tentative notes echoing from the back room stopped and little footsteps made their way to the kitchen.

"Yes, mama?" she asked from the hall, and then stopped when she reached Lestat. "Who is this?"

"This, my dear," Susan began, is an angel! He found our money in the market and brought it back here to us! He's going to join us for dinner and he plays the piano. Isn't that right, Mister...?" she faded off.

"Lestat," he spoke. "Lestat de Lioncourt."

"Oh, a Frenchman!" Susan began, fluttered and smiling.

You're husband may have left you for a whore, but you're not so innocently chaste yourself, woman, Lestat thought, turning now to Mary.

"Well, Mary, I heard parts of your scales," he said, getting down on his knees and smiling at her. Her grin back was very shy. "Would you mind showing me what you know?"

Mary glanced at her mother, who nodded fervently. "Yes, Mister Lestat," Mary said, and walked to the back room.

Lestat followed.

 

"He wants to change our deal." Hannah said lowly. "I was supposed to choice whether I would go quietly or not...." She slowly lowered her hands, the aching in her head repressing. "I guess we could just tell them that we're going for a walk."

"Thanks," Beatrice smiled. "I'll try to get better."

 

"Okay," Van Helsing sighed, and tossed the sword back at Carl, who caught it outside the carriage, his eyes wide. "If they aren't out here in ten minutes, I am ripping them both out of that room whether they're dressed or not!"

 

"Why would he give you a choice?" Edward asked. "More importantly, what will you say? I swear to God, if he touches you..." The sentence faded off into a low, menacing growl.

 

"This way," Mary said, leading Lestat into a small back room that consisted of a couch and a grand piano that took up over half the space.

Lestat sighed, the beauty of the instrument bringing back many memories... but he shoved them away.

"Why don't you play me a song, Mary?" Lestat said as she sat on the piano bench, positioning himself next to her. "I'd love to hear what a sweet..." he lingered on the word, "... little girl like you can play.

"You first," Mary insisted."I'm not very good."

Lestat frowned, but couldn't help himself being drawn to the keys, placing his long, white fingers along them as if he were carressing a lover. The smooth white ivory keys were so soft, the black wooden sharp under his nails.

"You won't know this," Lestat murmured as he let the first chord ring out in the small room. Then the memories came back:

"I've lost a lot," he had spoken, running his fingers eloquently on the piano keys. The curtains slowly fell back, showing both those monsters of vampires what the swamp had done to him.

"I fed off the crocodile..." he whispered through his chapped, swollen, water-filled, grey lips. "They did not touch me... the squirrels, turtles, eels... all the abudant life of the Mississippi. And then... slowly, Lestat became like himself again...

He had paused then, striking a low, minor chord on the piano, lifting his gaze to Claudia. His lank, matted hair hung in front of his bulging, cramped, bloodshot red eyes. "Claudia," he had whispered venomously. "You have been a very... very naughty girl..."

Lestat hit that chord now, and Mary seemed captivated, unable to say anything till it finally completely faded in the air, leaving the room silent as the grave.

"That was amazing!" she breathed. "Let... let me show you mine."

Her small fingers glinted on her side of the piano, playing a tiny, arranged, watered-down version of a Bach tune.

Lestat's eyes fell away from her tiny hands, falling now on her neck. The small veins pulsed there, just under a delicate curl, and he grinned, his eyes golden, his teeth pointed. All the anger from his memories still deep in his conscious, he gripped Mary's small shoulders and brought the nape of her neck deep against his fangs. She cried out, a small shriek that was covered by her fingers hitting a dischord on the piano. He put a hand over her small mouth, her young blood enough to make even his experienced head spin. She flailed her arms against him, her eyes rolling back in her head as faded an ugly shade of whitish-grey.

Lestat gasped as her small heart stopped and he released. "That," he muttered to himself, licking the drops off of his lips slowly, "was something I haven't done in a long time." He stroked the top of her curls indifferently as he head slumped against her chest. She looked asleep.

Swallowing as deeply as he could, he remembered why he didn't usually find children: their blood was too intoxicating and there was very little in her to sustain him.

"Susan," Lestat called, wiping his mouth, relishing the aftertaste, and stood up, walking toward the kitchen.

 

Beatrice's eyes widened. "I told you they're just talking!" A blush rose in her cheeks.

"Of course I'm not going quietly." Hannah said, defense mixing with a slight pout. "Let's get going before he does whatever he did before again." She rubbed her head and stood. "Edward, you know he's going to touch me."

 

"Sorry, but I don't believe you," Van Helsing said apologetically. "You're right, though... they're coming... soon..."