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McCullum doesn’t fucking believe this.
“Good afternoon, leech.” He cannot keep the smile off his face. His men linger with various expressions of tension or amusement. His humor is unusual, but this damn vampire is the weirdest one of the lot.
The pile of boxes bristles. Yes, the rookie was right. These boxes are too suspicious. A man that drunk wouldn’t have piled them up like that. Why didn't he mesmerize the cadet investigating?
“Fuck off,” Reid grumbles.
He can’t help it. McCullum laughs.
“My god, you’re in a pickle.” Hearing the surgeon swear was something. Damn leech was stuck in the sun. McCullum knows he was not imagining the exhaustion in the vampire’s voice. Daylight does that to ‘em.
One of his men inches towards the boxes, questioning. McCullum waves him off without a word. Reid is horribly stuck. They have time. Getting closer, McCullum can see the familiar coat tucked under the top boxes to provide shade’s protection. A yank would burn the monster to a crisp at this hour of the day. The winter sun is no more forgiving than the summer’s.
Reid’s reply is a wordless snarl. The leech is testy from being cornered. Usually, McCullum does not encourage trapping a vampire like this, but it seems Reid perfectly set up the trap himself. Such creatures need no excuse to be even more vicious when cornered.
McCullum hops onto a sturdy box to sit— the sharp intake of breath from Reid is fearful. He is careful not to lean back and disrupt the carefully balanced crates. The sun bears down on the docks at this hour. It would take a few minutes to burn a vampire up. A few seconds would be incapacitating.
“How the hell did you manage this?”
The silence under him is wary. McCullum only intends to gloat a little bit. His men relax, bored with the insight that this is going to take a while. If they get a fight at all. All it would take would be a good shove at the hastily constructed shelter. Maybe a bullet to keep the leech on the ground.
It’s pitiful.
“I lost track of the time in the tunnels.”
McCullum has to strain to hear the damn leech. That smooth deep voice is rough and low. Maybe he already was burned. These docks are barren of cover and life. Reid must have dove for the first cover he found. McCullum looks, spotting a likely tunnel entrance about fifty paces down the Thames docks. An impossible distance for a vampire in sunlight.
“It was cloudy for a few minutes this morning, so I risked it.” Reid continues after a surly pause. “I panicked.”
“I thought leeches instinctively knew when daybreak was approaching so you could scurry back into whatever dark hole you came out of.”
Reid’s suffering sigh is drawn-out. A little sheepish, really.
“Research,” he mumbles.
It is such a predictable— and stupid— excuse that McCullum laughs hard for a few moments. He has no words to describe the absurdity of the situation. Or the idiocy of the newborn hiding underneath a pyramid of boxes to escape the sun. Apex predator, his ass. This one is fucking dense.
His men’s grins are more predatory than the weak chuckle McCullum almost misses. The truce with the surgeon is rocky and thin. Reid avoids his men and the Guard doesn’t hunt him down. This would be the perfect opportunity to end a delayed conflict. Everyone is antsy about it.
“I suppose it is quite ridiculous,” the leech admits. “I’ve been here all day.”
McCullum absentmindedly taps a wooden plank with his heel, completely shattering the eased tensions. The prickle in the air is a threat of shadow magic. Reid isn’t quite defenseless. It would be suicide, but the vampire might take one of them out with him. He would go for McCullum.
“Relax, I just came to laugh at you.” McCullum placates, voice rough. Getting hit with a concentrated blast of shadow would hurt. He has seen Reid impale enemies before. McCullum wouldn’t make it through the night with a cursed wound to the gut. Seeing his men scream through their death throes is hard enough. Suffering the same fate would be a terrible way to go.
“I’m starting to think you’re fucked in the head,” he adds. Only half teasing. Maybe not being in contact with his Maker really ruined the surgeon’s vampiric development. The Brotherhood has to be curious about the young leech. He’s from an old line, that is certain. Why hasn't anyone informed Reid of anything?
“Hmm.”
Reid doesn’t believe him. It is crueler than their fight— the leech was in too much of a rush to really scare McCullum. Just left him before dashing off after the idiot Swansea. Speaking of…
“I think you hang around the good doctor Swansea too much, Reid, if you do stupid shit like this.”
That hitching sigh again. He is most certainly injured. “... you may be right.”
McCullum wonders exactly how dangerous Reid could still be in this state. Rumor around the Guard claims Reid is a powerful vampire— and that the truce is more for the Guard than for the leech. Bullshit. Enough planning could take any leech out. At what cost to Priwen, though? No, letting the cursed surgeon run on a tight leash is better. Priwen’s few scholars want the chance to study such a powerful monster up close. Reid is unusually civil.
He is unnatural, even for a vampire.
“So is your plan to hide here until the sun goes down?” McCullum considers the situation. Reid couldn’t safely shuffle the boxes over to a reliable patch of shade. Not without a lot of effort and risk. Perhaps he tried already.
“I was actually enjoying a nap until you walked up.” Reid’s tongue can be as sharp as his fangs. Not for the first time, McCullum wonders what sort of man Reid was before being turned into a monster. He is from West End. Usually, that area’s spawns are pompous assholes— not that Reid doesn’t slip up a few times, but he doesn’t ooze despicable pride. His parents must have raised him to be polite. A rare decent breed.
“Bollocks.”
Reid huffs, called out. “I am really tired, I admit, but the warmth is nice. I haven’t seen the sun in weeks. I almost miss it.”
Reminding McCullum again that this leech is a newborn. If Swansea is to be believed, Reid is only a month into his immortal lifespan. Usually, newborns would have been crushed by a few trained cadets. The surgeon would not have even made it into one of McCullum’s reports if that was the case.
“Almost, huh?” McCullum questions, taking in the day. It would be a horrible thing to miss. Even though the heat is sometimes awful, there are too many times to appreciate it. If McCullum could ever live with himself as a vampire, sun and food would probably tie for mortal comforts he would miss the most.
“It fucking hurts, McCullum.” Reid hisses. He certainly got singed— burned bad, even.
“Doesn’t look pleasant,” McCullum agrees, mild. His men are getting bored. Tough. They were the ones that wanted to join him considering they woke him up. None of them like dealing with Reid. The surgeon can be intimidating and cold when it pleases him. McCullum thinks he scares the cadets on purpose.
Reid’s silence stretches out again. McCullum’s men wander further and further away, but he doesn’t correct them. Nothing is going to attack him with the sun still up. It gives McCullum a chance to listen to the leech’s panting breaths.
“You’ve only got about an hour and a half until twilight, maybe two. If you can last that long.” Burns are taxing wounds. All vampires seem to have visceral reactions to fire and light. If Reid fed before this, he must be hungry now after trying to heal the damage. He would have succumbed to the injuries by now if they were fatal.
McCullum closes his eyes and leans against the stone wall. Reid’s wordless grumble is his only reply. A few minutes later he hears labored shifting. A box is nudged out by accident— McCullum pushes it back with his foot without being asked. There isn’t much room under the hastily made cover. Reid is a tall man, over six feet. The leech must be cramped and miserable.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Twilight, like you.” McCullum ignores the guarded fear. Without seeing Reid, it is almost possible to imagine an injured man instead of a cursed one. Pale skin with dark veins, eyes like piercing ice. Fangs bared with a smile or sneer. Blood magic curling around the surgeon’s shadowed form. All of that is gone in the darkness of the boxes.
“... I don’t understand.” The surgeon sounds younger than him right now.
Eyeing his men, McCullum decides they are far enough away.
“I ain’t gonna be the one to break the truce, Reid. I am a man of my word. So far you are, too. ” Although McCullum’s voice is a whisper, the vampire hears him fine. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice the lack of higher vampires in the city?”
The Guard too easily self-designated the credit. McCullum knows better. Even the Ascalon leeches are scattered, sulking in the shadows to evaluate the newborn. Whoever sired Reid is apocalyptically powerful. No other vampire could chase so many Ekons out of his territory so quickly. Nor enforce such a ban.
“You’re a territorial, powerful bastard. If I have to make a deal with the goddamn devil to keep the peace, so be it. Saving human lives is my only priority. You seem to agree.” It isn’t a damn speech, just the plain truth. McCullum was startled sober when Reid handed his ass to him in their fight. The power of a King’s blood couldn't match a burned, exhausted newborn. The wounds McCullum dealt were not serious enough to cripple Reid for any length of time.
Not to mention— saving the city from the vampire epidemic tipped the scales to put Reid in good favor, morally. The surgeon’s own frantic instance he wants to save lives is not just talk. How on God’s green earth could a vampire ignore blood up to his elbows in surgery, he may never know.
“Know thy self, know thy enemy.” Reid quotes in agreement. Ironic, considering the surgeon probably knows less about his curse than McCullum does. Reid appears to be one of those men who cannot understand his own worth, however many times it is repeated to him. The aura of him is… melancholic, despite the relative good fortune in his life.
“Alright, Plato.”
The bristle of academic outrage is predictable. The leech growls in annoyance. “Actually, that’s not—”
“If your opponent is of choleric temper, irritate him,” McCullum counters with a pleasant tone. Compared to a doctor he is not well educated, but he is no town idiot. Hunting vampires can be a boring, slow job. The bastards are immortal. Patience is necessary.
God, if he could have seen the leech’s face. Reid’s silence is stunned when he realizes he missed a joke so spectacularly. McCullum muffles his laughter with an unconvincing cough. Poor devil must be sick as a he could be from pain.
“That’s rich, coming from you.” Reid’s response is lackluster. He is pissy from being stuck two inches from death all day. If McCullum had any idea what could protect a vampire from the sun, he may have tried it already. It has never been a line of thought to pursue. No, the evening is best. Reid sure as hell doesn’t know what to do, either.
McCullum’s men finally decided to leave, put out by the lack of fight. He raises a hand in acknowledgment, committing their names to memory. If grumbles spread through the ranks, he will know who to press for insubordination. It is not ideal to be allied with a leech. Reid, however, is earnest about his goodwill. For now…
“What exactly were you researching?” McCullum checks the sun, then the surrounding buildings. Reid is itching to leave. He keeps shuffling around— or he’s trying to ease the pain. There is nothing to do but wait.
The surgeon launches into a complicated explanation. It is the most enthusiastic McCullum’s ever heard him. This and that about blood quality, cells, mutations, sensitivities, the difference between Skals— “there are actually sane ones, McCullum, if a bit… confused, sometimes”— and the infected vampires. Lineage purity. A whole lot of jargon concerning Vulkods, Ekons, and Ichors. Healing factors, reactions to damage. Responses to human blood— “I asked Edgar’s permission, do not fret”— and a few confusing mentions of a special vampire’s blood. It is, frankly, over McCullum’s head.
Reid certainly is a doctor. It is no wonder he continues to stick by the Brotherhood, despite his damaged relationship with Swansea. The fucking idiot. McCullum would have killed him for causing the epidemic if it wouldn’t have crossed Reid. His men, thank God, know better than to march into the Pembroke with anything other than reluctant manners. Reid may not be self-aware to recognize his territorial behavior, but McCullum knows how to act around old blood.
The leech is exhausted. He takes pauses between his thoughts to breathe, sort his mind. McCullum notices a distinct quality difference in Reid’s refined voice, now rough at the edges. The surgeon happily offers to share the information with the Guard— once he has cleared it of sensitive information. Although it is not new, McCullum is still amazed at Reid’s trust. His research is counterintelligence.
Doctors.
Reid was recounting his current predicament: tracking down a specific Skal in the hopes to take some blood while it was still alive. The surgeon spotted rats feasting on a Skal corpse— and it took him down a rabbit hole, following the rats to get samples from them, too. Wondering around the effects of vampiric blood on non-humans.
“You think it’s dark enough yet?” McCullum interrupts. The sun isn’t below the horizon, but the orange glow is filtered through clouds and the typical London fog. It is near twilight. Jumping from shadow to shadow would still be necessary.
“Should be. Let’s be quick.”
Reid knocks over the top crates, then staggers. McCullum twists, making sure to block any possible rays—
“Ah, I am weaker than I thought.” The surgeon grimaces. He looks like hell. Skin ash-grey, no stolen blood bringing fake color to his cheeks. Eyes almost as pale as snow. Fangs long in hunger. He is stiff when he bends down to put on his coat. The lack of ash or burns is relieving. Reid was able to recover at a steep cost.
“Hold this for me, please?”
McCullum has no option to say anything before a black medicine bag is pushed into his chest. He grabs it on instinct. The clink of glass in it is worrying. He has always been wary around vampire blood. Accidents are more common than his men think. Skals are too easy to create, bite or not.
“Do you need to… uh, eat?” McCullum asks, cautious as he takes a step backward. Reid is trembling. Just enough to be noticeable. The leech looks at his arms, brushes off his coat. His clothes are burnt and dirty. The narrowed-eyed glare Reid sends towards the sun is full of spite.
“I will be fine if we make it my office.”
Easier said than done. Escorting Reid back to the Pembroke is like managing a grumpy drunk. McCullum ends up trailing a step behind, watching the vampire stay near the dark sides of buildings and alleys. While his balance is off and his limbs are weak, Reid dives into dangerous parts of the city without a thought. Places the Guard does not go alone.
Although, the surgeon is now the worst thing lurking in the shadows. McCullum watches him the entire way. Talking and walking is one too many tasks for Reid in this state. He keeps his head down around people, not once look up to browse. Against all instinct. How bizarre.
He does, however, send a few longing, hungry glances towards rats scurrying away from McCullum’s footsteps. Reid walks as silent as the night. He does not lunge for one. McCullum wonders why. It would not be the first time he saw the leech devouring rats. While horrifying, the taboo eating habits are vital to Reid’s deal.
Between their impatience and the still-empty streets, it takes little time to reach the back of the hospital. Reid’s office, with its ever open window, is a welcome sight. The surgeon’s soft sigh of relief is not exaggerated. He will sleep for a day at least.
“Don’t get distracted next time,” McCullum says in lieu of a goodbye. He holds up the bag of dangerous blood and tools for Reid to grab. The surgeon takes it— and McCullum tenses when pale eyes flicker over his face and throat. Reid backs down, dips his head in thankful respect.
“I’ll remember,” Reid mutters, tone flat. “Thank you, sir.”
A swirl of smoke, then the infuriating leech clambers through the open window with little of his unnatural grace. A tug sends the blackout curtains closed. Leaving McCullum to stare up at old scaffolding, at the den of the most vicious vampire in London— hell, England. A leech in a damn hospital.
“Christ Almighty.”