(fic) The Hunted - Chapter 4/? - PSoH
Dec. 2nd, 2007 01:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yellowhordeDisclaimer: I don’t own Petshop of Horrors and I make no money from this or any other fanfic I write.
Pairing: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Alternate Universe
Rating: R
Warning: Language, Violence, Sexual Situations, Hermaphrodite!D
Title: The Hunted
Author: yellowhorde
Notes: This was written for NaNoWriMo 2007
Mary sat in the corner of her son’s hospital room, her hands wrapped around her bent legs and her head resting on her knees. She didn’t cry for she simply didn’t have any tears left at the moment. Her eyes were red and dry.
John had gone back to his home, wherever that was, over an hour ago, at her insistence. There was nothing he could do here, and she didn’t know if she could deal with him at the moment. She didn’t want to blame him for what had happened to her son, but some small, angry part of her did just that. So she had sent him away before she could say anything that would hurt them both.
Though it was only a little after six in the evening, it felt much, much later. Her red-rimmed eyes burned from all the tears she had shed since this horrible ordeal had begun and her heart had never felt heavier than it did at that moment.
She didn’t hear the soft footfalls approaching until they were right on top of her and still she look up until a woman’s voice addressed her.
“Ma’am… Miss Anderson?”
Sighing heavily, Mary lifted her head and saw that the nurse with all of the freckles was standing over her looking anxious.
“Uh, yes… Nurse-“ She trailed off for she didn’t know this nurse’s name and she simply refused to use John’s nickname of Freckle Girl. It was unnecessarily cruel to call or even think of her like that. She was a human being, after all, with feelings that could be hurt.
“Tina Payton, ma’am, but you can just call me Tina.” The young nurse actually bobbed to her. “Look, I heard about your son, and I just wanted to help you out, if I could.”
“I don’t think you can,” Mary muttered, not unkindly, “Not unless you happen to have a cure for Lycanthropy Disorder in your back pocket.”
Tina lowered her head and stared at her hands, which she was wringing. “No, I don’t have a cure, ma’am. I don’t think there is a cure… at least there probably won’t be one anytime in the foreseeable future.”
“Then go away, Tina.” Mary mumbled in a limp, tired voice. “Leave me alone.”
“I’d like to help, ma’am.” Tina stubbornly insisted. “And although I can’t help you personally, I do know of someone who might be able to.”
Mary looked up sharply. “Are you telling me the truth? Because if you’re lying-“
Tina’s hands flew up, palms vertical. “Hey, whoa, I wouldn’t tell lies to you, ma’am. I’ve got no reason to do so. Like I said, I just want to help you and your son. You know, just kind of point you in the right direction.”
Intrigued and unwilling to leave so much as a stone unturned in her efforts to help her son, Mary stood to look at the nurse with a glare that would have sent formidable men running for the hills in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.
“There’s this mysterious man who runs a pet shop in New York’s Chinatown who might be able to help you and your son.” Tina began, quietly. “He goes by the name of D, Count D, and, I swear by all that’s holy, if there was ever a man who could help you, it would be him.”
The drive from Rochester to New York City took the better part of six hours, so it was just after midnight before Mary found the address Tina Payton, a.k.a. Freckle Girl, had scribbled down on a piece of notebook paper.
“Just tell the Count that Tina sent you,” she had said with a smile, but did not elaborate any further than that.
Now she stood outside a building of stunning Chinese architecture, complete with a pair of matching bronze Fu dogs guarding the steps that led down to an ornately carved door. She stepped closer for a better look, fascinated. She had seen such statues on a visit to San Francisco’s Chinatown the summer before she went off to college. The ones she had seen had been beautiful, exquisite, but they didn’t compare to the fine specimens she now saw before her now.
The male Fu dog had a globe under his paws while the female had a child under her paws. These ancient guardians, she knew, had been used as potent protectors in imperial palaces, homes of high officials and rich merchants. In modern times, they were said to protect their ‘master’s’ homes from theft and robbery. In any case, they were a fascinating addition to the décor and a great conversation piece.
Nervously, she dug the paper with the address out of her jean pocket and squinted at it in the dim illumination offered by a distant street light. As far as she could tell, the address was correct, and there was a sign near the door that announced that the shop in front of her was indeed Count D’s pet shop. She glanced to her left, then her right, but the street was deserted at this late hour.
It’s awfully late, she thought, refolding the paper and replacing it in her pocket. What if this Count D isn’t even at his shop right now? She thought nervously. Then what will I do?
She nibbled her lower lip, wracked with indecision. It hardly seemed likely that this Count D would be interested in helping her if she disturbed him in the middle of the night.
A recent memory of her son, laughing and playing with his dog Guido in the autumn sun as the colorful leaves fell from the trees like golden snow, flashed through her mind, only to be replaced by the image of her son, pale and frail, in his hospital bed with a breathing tube inserted into his mouth and restraints holding his arms immobile. If this Count D wouldn’t help her, they’d take him away from him. She simply couldn’t allow that to happen!
Squaring her shoulders and fixing her face into a mask of calm determination, Mary started down the steps, silently counting each step as she descended. There were thirteen steps all told, an unlucky number, and she felt a shiver work its way down the length of her spine.
“I’ve got to get a hold of myself,” She muttered fiercely under her breath. “I can’t allow some silly superstitions to scare me. My son’s life was at stake, for God’s sake!”
Swallowed her fear, she approached a large, ornately carved door. There could be no turning back. Her son’s future rested in her hands. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – fail.
Rapping her knuckles smartly against the carved wood, she waited for some sign that the shop was occupied. An unknown amount of time passed and she began to fidget, shifting the weight of her body from one leg to the other. She glanced at her watch, but was unable to read the minute hands in the dim light.
After what seemed an eternity, she heard the sounds of locks and chains being undone. The door slid open silently - no eerie creaking, for which she was grateful - and she found herself standing before a hooded figure with pale, porcelain skin. A dark cloak hung from the man’s shoulders and his face, from the nose up was hidden in shadow.
“Excuse me,” She stammered, peering into the depths of the hood in a vain attempt to make out facial features, “but would you be Count D by any chance?”
The man inclined his head gracefully. “Indeed, I am Count D.” he murmured. “How may I help you, young lady?”
His voice was smooth and cultured with a trace of an accent. She would have guessed it was Oriental in nature, but as far as she knew, most Orientals didn’t hold English titles. Though, of course, not being able to make out his face clearly from under the hood, it was entirely possible that she was entirely mistaken in that regard. God knows it wouldn’t be the first time she had made an error of judgment when guessing a person’s ancestry.
Mary swallowed nervously, and her throat was suddenly very dry.
“Sir, I’m sorry for disturbing you at such a late hour.” She apologized, “My name is Mary. Mary Anderson.” She thrust out her arm and the man who stood before her stared at her hand as if in confusion. A small frown twisted his lips. Embarrassed, she withdrew her hand and stuffed it into the pocket of her jacket.
“I came because I need your help. My son,” she began, then ground to a halt as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. Not willing to look weak and foolish in front of a total stranger, she took a deep, shaky breath and blinked back the tears that had sprung to her eyes. “My son is dying. Please, sir, I was told you could help me. A girl – woman – by the name of Tina Payton told me about you and said you might be able to help my son, Leon.”
The hooded man seemed to pull himself upright, though he had by no means been slouching.
“Ah, yes, Tina. A lovely woman, indeed,” he murmured magnanimously. “If I remember correctly, I helped her with some fairly difficult family issues last spring.”
“Please,” she whispered, “I need your help.”
For several moments the Count said nothing. Mary lowered her eyes and studied her shoes in the awkward silence that stretched out between them. In her mind she imagined his brows rising in dubious suspicion, imagined him turning her away from his shop, refusing her aid.
But he did not do any of these things. Instead, he finally slid the door open a bit further, and ushered her with a flourish of the hands and a small twist of his lips that she desperately wanted to believe was a smile.
“Please, won’t you come in?” He murmured smoothly. “It is late and the night is chilly. Please, warm yourself by my fire and we shall talk.”
Weak-kneed with relief, she stepped through the door and into the shop. The first thing she noticed was the heavy, sweet scent of some sort of incense. She inhaled deeply trying to determine which scent it was, but it wasn’t any of the ones she was familiar with through her explorations of essential oils and aromatherapy back in her wild, carefree college days.
The second thing she noticed, other than a collection of ornate bird cages in various sizes suspended from the ceiling – all currently empty and showing no signs of recent habitation - was the soft, distant sounds of animals. What sort of animals she couldn’t say for certain, but they were definitely animal sounds. But, as it was a pet shop, this should not have surprised her. Yet, despite the background sounds of animals, there weren’t any other accompanying scents. She detected not the faintest hint of musk or animal fur, cedar chips or bedding of any sort. Either this man was a clean freak, or the incense was covering any and all scents, pleasant or otherwise, that one might normally associate with a pet shop.
“Please be seated, Miss Anderson,” Count D said, indicating one of the ornately carved sofa and chair set in what appeared to be authentic rosewood. Each piece had beautiful cushions or throw pillows in brilliant Chinese patterns in rich reds, greens and purples.
“I was just about to have some tea,” he murmured, “Would you care to join me?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.” She replied, thinking it rather odd that anyone would be having tea so late in the evening.
“It’s no trouble at all, dear lady. Just have a seat and I will be back shortly.”
“Thank you,” she said, faintly and seated herself on one of the chairs.
Curious despite herself, she swept her gaze over the room, fascinated. She nodded her head in approval at the few pieces of furniture she saw and the many decorative, very expensive looking vases. It wasn’t the way she would chose to decorate her own home - a little too rich for her blood and all the antique vases weren’t exactly kid friendly - but it had a certain amount of opulence to it without seeming too pretentious.
When the Count returned, he was pushing a tea cart laid with white linen, a teapot with matching glassware and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
“So, how may I be of service to you this evening, Miss Anderson?” Count D lifted the teapot and began to pour them each a cup of tea. Fragrant steam whirled up from the cup in front of her. Smiling pleasantly, he then offered the plate of cookies to Mary and she accepted one with her own small smile of gratitude. It had been a long, emotional few days and a bit of chocolate was just what she wanted to take the edge off her stress.
“I was told by Tina Payton that you might be able to help me… and my son.” Mary bit into the cookie. It was superb, soft and tasty.
“Perhaps I can at that.” Count D murmured. He took a sip of his own tea and glanced at her over the rim of his cup. “But first I will need to know the nature of the help you require.”
“Yes, of course.”
Slowly and haltingly at first, Mary explained to Count D about her and Leon’s camping trip to Timberline Lake Park. And then she went on to describe the dreadful attack and the events after the surgery. She kept the night she had spent in John Orcot’s arms to herself. There was no need for anyone but themselves to know about that. It had been special, and she hoped that John felt the same. But above all, it was, most importantly, private.
“Miss Anderson,” Count D set down his now empty teacup and sighed sadly. “I am sorry, but as I’m sure you already know, there is no cure for Lycanthrope Disorder.”
Mary bowed her head and felt her eyes prick as tears threatened. “I guess I kind of did know that already. The doctor pretty much told me as much but I was hoping…” She looked up and peered into the shadows of the hood, desperate for answers that she feared didn’t exist. “But surely there must be something you could do?”
“Dr. Petersons has ordered blood tests for tomorrow afternoon,” she continued in a rush, the words tumbling out in an unchecked flood in her desperation. “If Leon is diagnosed with Lycanthrope Disorder, they are going to take him away from me, forever. I don’t think I could live if that happened. My son is my life, my world… my everything. He’s the only family I have left.”
Tears slipped from her eyes and she found that she couldn’t stop them. The idea of losing her son to death was intolerable. The idea that he may live but be separated from her because of circumstances beyond their control was even worse. It ripped her up inside that this seemed to be a no-win situation. There had to be something she could do. There had to be.
“Please. There must be something I can do. I would do anything, anything to save him.”
Count D sat still and silent as a statue, his face as ever covered by the overhanging shadow of his hood. After what seemed like a very, very long time, he spoke, obviously picking each word carefully.
“There may be something I can do for you, Miss Anderson.” He said, “But there are no guarantees that my plan would even work.”
Mary bolted upright, her heart thudding in her chest. She dashed away her tears. “Please, I’ll do anything you ask if it would only save my son!”
“I have a son of my own, Miss Anderson. He…” The Count hesitated and she detected a hint of pain in his voice for a moment before he was able to continue. She wondered at this, but knew she would never ask about it. His pain was private and should remain so unless he chose to make it known. “He studied genetic engineering at the State University of New York, in Albany. Their labs were at the cutting edge of biotechnology, at least according to my son. I, of course, know nothing of such matters, but it his research was very important to him.”
He paused and poured himself another cup of tea. “Would you care for more tea, Miss Anderson?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” She hesitated then surprised herself by asking, “Were you and your son close, Count D?”
His lips twitched a small, sad smile. “Not particularly. We were very much alike physically, but our minds were in two separate worlds. Mine in the past, in tradition, his in the realms of science… the future.”
Mary could hear a trace of scorn in his voice and wondered at it.
“We had very different and conflicting views on many matters of importance. And a few years ago we had a, how shall I say, a falling out of sorts. I have not spoken to or seen him since then.”
“That’s so sad,” Mary whispered softly.
“It was rather… unfortunate. But it was, I believe, a necessary thing.” He fell silent and stared into the depths of his cup for several moments.
“One of the projects my son was working on was a chemical compound that theoretically at least could be used to control Lycanthrope Disorder.” He held up his hand abruptly, effectively forestalling any questions or comments she might have had. “I must stress that it was not a cure by any means. But my son believed that his research would bring about some sort of revolution in science world.”
“It was not to be, unfortunately,” He sighed and sipped his tea. “My son argued that if used properly and in conjunction with intensive therapy, the serum he created would enable a werewolf to retain human cognitive powers that would enable said werewolf to control its baser, more animalistic instincts. But he was never able to prove his theory because he could not find anyone who would be willing to provide proper funding for his project.”
Count D fell silent and stared into the depths of the delicate teacup he held in his hand once more, reflecting on his personal thoughts and memories for a short period of time. “As you may or may not know, there existed at that time, and even today I’m sure, a strong anti-werewolf feeling in this country. May I presume that you are aware of what your fellow humans think about werewolves, yes?”
“They’re monsters,” She answered promptly, “Vicious, blood thirsty animals that would kill without compunction,” Realizing what she had just said, she added, somewhat embarrassed, “at least that’s what people say about them.”
“Yes,” Count D said, nodding, “That’s exactly how humans see them. And because they are considered monsters, werewolves are hated, feared… and hunted. Because, you see, it is Mankind’s nature to destroy that which they fear or do not understand. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes, it is.” She whispered her agreement with a sad nod of her head, “It is.”
And this prejudice was what her son, her poor, sweet, innocent boy, would face for the rest of his life. Endless persecution, endless fear and hatred and for no other reason than he was, now, different. Even if he were to never harm a single living being, that fear would persist and taint his very existence. It hardly seemed fair.
“I just happen to have some of his experimental serum.” Count D announced suddenly. “There have been some animal experimentation, a practice I find most distasteful, but no human, or, shall I say, werewolf trials were done. It has not been approved by the United States,” he waved his hand vaguely as if trying to pluck words from thin air, “Food and Drug Administration?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Mary confirmed, her heart thudding heavily, “the FDA.”
“FDA… yes,” he set his teacup on its saucer. “As I said, I have access to some of this serum, untested as it is. And I would be willing to let you have a small amount.”
“You would really be willing to just give it to me?” Mary gasped, “Just like that? But why? What’s the catch? I mean, what do you get out of it? ” A hand flew to her mouth, too late to stop the suspicion in her voice.
“You are quite right to ask about a ‘catch’ as you call it, young lady.” Count D replied lightly. “And there is one, to be sure. Everything has its price, Miss Anderson. Everything. And sometimes the price can be very high, I’ve found. The only real question is if you are willing to pay that price to save your son’s life.”
“But what’s in it for you?” Mary repeated, bewildered and excited at once.
“The survival of my people, Miss Anderson,” Count D stated, spreading his hands out in front of him. “No more, no less.”
“I – I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” He sighed sadly. “But if you would be so kind as to allow me to explain?”
“Yes, of course. Please do.”
Instead of replying immediately, Count D raised his voice and called out in what was unmistakably a commanding voice what she thought might be Chinese.
From the deeper shadows of the room, a small figure appeared, a child of roughly four years of age. It was one of the most beautiful children Mary had ever seen, with short, chin length hair as black as midnight, pale skin and… she couldn’t believe it was possible, one yellow and one purple eye! It must be the dim light playing tricks on her eyes for surely no human being could have such eyes.
“What a beautiful little girl,” She exclaimed as the child came up and stood beside Count D.
A strange smile played along Count D’s lips. “Indeed, as you say, Miss Anderson, a beautiful child, my only grandchild.”
For some reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on, Mary felt like the Count was misleading her somehow. But she put aside that thought aside. What would he gain by lying to her?
The child turned puzzled eyes to her grandfather. Count D said something to her in his language, and then the child nodded as if in understanding. “Come, child,” he said, patting the sofa next to him, “Be seated and allow this lovely woman to look at you.”
“Then that means she is your son’s daughter?”
“Yes, the child is of my son.” Count D replied and again Mary got the feeling that the answer was worded as to be deliberately evasive, but how this was so, she was not certain. But still, the feeling persisted that all was not as it seemed.
“My grandchild is the last of our line,” Count D stated matter-of-factly, “But was born… different in some very fundamental ways that are not easily noticed. As the child is under my care now, it is my duty to assure that a proper mate can be found. It is essential that this be done for if one is not found, our bloodline will cease to exist.”
Mary knew very little about the Chinese, but family and the good bloodlines was apparently very important to them. So she sort of understood why a grandfather would be concerned with finding a proper mate for his granddaughter. But what did that have to do with her and her son?
“I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand what this has to do with Leon, unless…” Suddenly something in her mind clicked. “Wait a second here. Are you saying that you want to arrange a marriage between my son and your grandchild?”
“That is essentially correct, Miss Anderson.” Count D confirmed with a small nod of his head. “With your consent they would be mated.”
“But why an arranged marriage?” she blurted, finding the use of the word mated somewhat awkward. “I mean, no one makes arranged marriages any more. Besides, in America we marry whomever we want to. It’s called freedom of choice. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
Count D stiffened and Mary wondered if she had said the wrong thing and offended him. She hadn’t meant to, but she had been so shocked by the idea that her mouth ran off ahead of her brain. Here he was offering her his assistance and she carelessly swatted his proposal down without even giving it a second’s consideration. Was it really so odd that he would be willing to go so far as to arrange a marriage between two children? No one did that anymore. Or at least, no one did it anymore in the United States. But apparently it was still a common practice in many less developed parts of the world.
“I understand that you find the idea of an arranged marriage to be a bit… backwards, I suppose. But who else would you have your son take as a mate, Miss Anderson?” Count D demanded, and his voice tight as if he was trying to control a great deal of anger. “What woman’s daughter would accept him with his current condition? What mother would be willing to taint her bloodlines, her future children with the werewolves’ curse?”
Mary dropped her eyes. “I guess I never thought of it that way,” she mumbled, her cheeks hot with shame. “But isn’t it a bit early to start thinking about such things? I mean, they’re just children after all.”
“Yes, they are children,” Count D agreed quietly, “but are you really willing to risk your son’s life by refusing outright my proposal?”
He caught her eyes and held them with his own almost as if he were trying to compel her with his will alone. “In his current state, your son has no chance of surviving the Change. It cellular reconstruction and the resulting devastating side effects, of which you have had a small sample already, will surely kill him for he is too young and weak to live through such a traumatic alteration.”
All the color drained from Mary’s face for she knew he spoke the truth. As Dr. Petersons had already stated, it would take a miracle to save her son. And now that miracle was being offered to her and the only condition was that her son would marry a young Chinese girl sometime in the distant future. Was that really such a terrible arrangement?
“And if I agree?” She asked tearing her eyes away from the Count’s with considerable effort. “Are you saying that Leon and your grandchild will be engaged to marry at some future date?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying,” Count D replied easily. “If you agree, a contract will be drawn up, and they will eventually be mated.”
There’s that word again, Mary thought with a flash of irritation – mated. He makes it sound like he’s arranging to breed two dogs, not arranging a marriage of convenience between two innocent children.
Her irritation evaporated in a moment and she breathed a small sigh of resignation.
When all was said and done, what choice did she have? By agreeing to this archaic marriage deal, she would have a means in which to save her son’s life. Surely that was worth something? And maybe their two children would actually grow and end up liking each other… maybe even love each other. Stranger things had been known to happen.
Or maybe, she thought, they’ll come to realize that this is one great big mistake and decide to dissolve their engagement some time in the future.
But for right now, the only way Leon would have any future at all is if she went along with Count D’s request.
“Okay, fine.” Mary sighed, “Let’s say I agree to this thing? What sort of guarantees can you offer me?”
“I can offer no guarantees, only hope.” Count D said smoothly, his voice colored with eagerness. “I will give you the serum and you must give it to your son as soon as you return to the hospital. Make him drink it and be certain that he downs every last drop. That is very important.”
“Okay, and then what?”
“The serum is a fast acting one. It will send the disease into remission, much the same way cancer does when it’s aggressively treated. If all goes well, there will be no trace of Lycanthropy Disorder in his blood, his tissue, or his bodily fluids. It will be as if he were never infected.”
He smiled and there was a bit of smug triumphant in his voice, obvious pride in his son’s medical miracle. “If the doctors are unable to detect the disease, then there will be no reason to institutionalize the boy. He will be free to leave the hospital once he has recovered from his many wounds.”
“But how long will the disease be in remission?” Mary asked, almost afraid to hope.
“That I cannot say,” Count D replied with sad reluctance. “It may be weeks, months or even years.”
Mary opened her mouth, but he held up a hand and silenced her as effectively as if he had gagged her.
“The point is, Miss Anderson, that your son will have a much better chance of surviving the Change if he were fully matured and healthy. As he is now, he has no hope.”
“And if he doesn’t make it to adulthood?” Mary whispered, almost afraid to speak the words aloud in fear that she would jinx her son. “What will happen then?”
Count D gave a small shrug. “Then the contract will be null and void, of course. But, believe me when I say that it is in both of our interests that your son lives.”
Mary wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she kept her silence. She knew that she would do anything to save her son’s life, even if that meant that she would have to agree to marry him off to a complete stranger.
“Now, if your son should come to full mental and physical maturity in eighteen years, then your son and my grandchild will be mated on your son’s twenty-fifth birthday.” He smiled at her indulgently. “And, if all goes well, and the gods shall grant their joining, offspring will be formed from their union.”
“Okay, it’s a deal then.” Mary stood before she could change her mind. She thrust out her hand and this time, Count D rose and clasped it in his. His grandchild watched them with wide eyes, not knowing that one of life’s biggest choices had just been taken out of her hands. “You get me this miraculous serum, and you’ve got yourself a future-son-in-law.”
Count D smiled again and shook her hand with restrained enthusiasm. He released her hand, and then clapped his own together happily. “This is good news indeed. I shall go and draw up the contract for you to sign immediately. Then I shall fetch the serum. If all goes well, we shall be seeing each other again in eighteen years.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
CHAPTER 05
Pairing: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Alternate Universe
Rating: R
Warning: Language, Violence, Sexual Situations, Hermaphrodite!D
Title: The Hunted
Author: yellowhorde
Notes: This was written for NaNoWriMo 2007
Mary sat in the corner of her son’s hospital room, her hands wrapped around her bent legs and her head resting on her knees. She didn’t cry for she simply didn’t have any tears left at the moment. Her eyes were red and dry.
John had gone back to his home, wherever that was, over an hour ago, at her insistence. There was nothing he could do here, and she didn’t know if she could deal with him at the moment. She didn’t want to blame him for what had happened to her son, but some small, angry part of her did just that. So she had sent him away before she could say anything that would hurt them both.
Though it was only a little after six in the evening, it felt much, much later. Her red-rimmed eyes burned from all the tears she had shed since this horrible ordeal had begun and her heart had never felt heavier than it did at that moment.
She didn’t hear the soft footfalls approaching until they were right on top of her and still she look up until a woman’s voice addressed her.
“Ma’am… Miss Anderson?”
Sighing heavily, Mary lifted her head and saw that the nurse with all of the freckles was standing over her looking anxious.
“Uh, yes… Nurse-“ She trailed off for she didn’t know this nurse’s name and she simply refused to use John’s nickname of Freckle Girl. It was unnecessarily cruel to call or even think of her like that. She was a human being, after all, with feelings that could be hurt.
“Tina Payton, ma’am, but you can just call me Tina.” The young nurse actually bobbed to her. “Look, I heard about your son, and I just wanted to help you out, if I could.”
“I don’t think you can,” Mary muttered, not unkindly, “Not unless you happen to have a cure for Lycanthropy Disorder in your back pocket.”
Tina lowered her head and stared at her hands, which she was wringing. “No, I don’t have a cure, ma’am. I don’t think there is a cure… at least there probably won’t be one anytime in the foreseeable future.”
“Then go away, Tina.” Mary mumbled in a limp, tired voice. “Leave me alone.”
“I’d like to help, ma’am.” Tina stubbornly insisted. “And although I can’t help you personally, I do know of someone who might be able to.”
Mary looked up sharply. “Are you telling me the truth? Because if you’re lying-“
Tina’s hands flew up, palms vertical. “Hey, whoa, I wouldn’t tell lies to you, ma’am. I’ve got no reason to do so. Like I said, I just want to help you and your son. You know, just kind of point you in the right direction.”
Intrigued and unwilling to leave so much as a stone unturned in her efforts to help her son, Mary stood to look at the nurse with a glare that would have sent formidable men running for the hills in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.
“There’s this mysterious man who runs a pet shop in New York’s Chinatown who might be able to help you and your son.” Tina began, quietly. “He goes by the name of D, Count D, and, I swear by all that’s holy, if there was ever a man who could help you, it would be him.”
The drive from Rochester to New York City took the better part of six hours, so it was just after midnight before Mary found the address Tina Payton, a.k.a. Freckle Girl, had scribbled down on a piece of notebook paper.
“Just tell the Count that Tina sent you,” she had said with a smile, but did not elaborate any further than that.
Now she stood outside a building of stunning Chinese architecture, complete with a pair of matching bronze Fu dogs guarding the steps that led down to an ornately carved door. She stepped closer for a better look, fascinated. She had seen such statues on a visit to San Francisco’s Chinatown the summer before she went off to college. The ones she had seen had been beautiful, exquisite, but they didn’t compare to the fine specimens she now saw before her now.
The male Fu dog had a globe under his paws while the female had a child under her paws. These ancient guardians, she knew, had been used as potent protectors in imperial palaces, homes of high officials and rich merchants. In modern times, they were said to protect their ‘master’s’ homes from theft and robbery. In any case, they were a fascinating addition to the décor and a great conversation piece.
Nervously, she dug the paper with the address out of her jean pocket and squinted at it in the dim illumination offered by a distant street light. As far as she could tell, the address was correct, and there was a sign near the door that announced that the shop in front of her was indeed Count D’s pet shop. She glanced to her left, then her right, but the street was deserted at this late hour.
It’s awfully late, she thought, refolding the paper and replacing it in her pocket. What if this Count D isn’t even at his shop right now? She thought nervously. Then what will I do?
She nibbled her lower lip, wracked with indecision. It hardly seemed likely that this Count D would be interested in helping her if she disturbed him in the middle of the night.
A recent memory of her son, laughing and playing with his dog Guido in the autumn sun as the colorful leaves fell from the trees like golden snow, flashed through her mind, only to be replaced by the image of her son, pale and frail, in his hospital bed with a breathing tube inserted into his mouth and restraints holding his arms immobile. If this Count D wouldn’t help her, they’d take him away from him. She simply couldn’t allow that to happen!
Squaring her shoulders and fixing her face into a mask of calm determination, Mary started down the steps, silently counting each step as she descended. There were thirteen steps all told, an unlucky number, and she felt a shiver work its way down the length of her spine.
“I’ve got to get a hold of myself,” She muttered fiercely under her breath. “I can’t allow some silly superstitions to scare me. My son’s life was at stake, for God’s sake!”
Swallowed her fear, she approached a large, ornately carved door. There could be no turning back. Her son’s future rested in her hands. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – fail.
Rapping her knuckles smartly against the carved wood, she waited for some sign that the shop was occupied. An unknown amount of time passed and she began to fidget, shifting the weight of her body from one leg to the other. She glanced at her watch, but was unable to read the minute hands in the dim light.
After what seemed an eternity, she heard the sounds of locks and chains being undone. The door slid open silently - no eerie creaking, for which she was grateful - and she found herself standing before a hooded figure with pale, porcelain skin. A dark cloak hung from the man’s shoulders and his face, from the nose up was hidden in shadow.
“Excuse me,” She stammered, peering into the depths of the hood in a vain attempt to make out facial features, “but would you be Count D by any chance?”
The man inclined his head gracefully. “Indeed, I am Count D.” he murmured. “How may I help you, young lady?”
His voice was smooth and cultured with a trace of an accent. She would have guessed it was Oriental in nature, but as far as she knew, most Orientals didn’t hold English titles. Though, of course, not being able to make out his face clearly from under the hood, it was entirely possible that she was entirely mistaken in that regard. God knows it wouldn’t be the first time she had made an error of judgment when guessing a person’s ancestry.
Mary swallowed nervously, and her throat was suddenly very dry.
“Sir, I’m sorry for disturbing you at such a late hour.” She apologized, “My name is Mary. Mary Anderson.” She thrust out her arm and the man who stood before her stared at her hand as if in confusion. A small frown twisted his lips. Embarrassed, she withdrew her hand and stuffed it into the pocket of her jacket.
“I came because I need your help. My son,” she began, then ground to a halt as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. Not willing to look weak and foolish in front of a total stranger, she took a deep, shaky breath and blinked back the tears that had sprung to her eyes. “My son is dying. Please, sir, I was told you could help me. A girl – woman – by the name of Tina Payton told me about you and said you might be able to help my son, Leon.”
The hooded man seemed to pull himself upright, though he had by no means been slouching.
“Ah, yes, Tina. A lovely woman, indeed,” he murmured magnanimously. “If I remember correctly, I helped her with some fairly difficult family issues last spring.”
“Please,” she whispered, “I need your help.”
For several moments the Count said nothing. Mary lowered her eyes and studied her shoes in the awkward silence that stretched out between them. In her mind she imagined his brows rising in dubious suspicion, imagined him turning her away from his shop, refusing her aid.
But he did not do any of these things. Instead, he finally slid the door open a bit further, and ushered her with a flourish of the hands and a small twist of his lips that she desperately wanted to believe was a smile.
“Please, won’t you come in?” He murmured smoothly. “It is late and the night is chilly. Please, warm yourself by my fire and we shall talk.”
Weak-kneed with relief, she stepped through the door and into the shop. The first thing she noticed was the heavy, sweet scent of some sort of incense. She inhaled deeply trying to determine which scent it was, but it wasn’t any of the ones she was familiar with through her explorations of essential oils and aromatherapy back in her wild, carefree college days.
The second thing she noticed, other than a collection of ornate bird cages in various sizes suspended from the ceiling – all currently empty and showing no signs of recent habitation - was the soft, distant sounds of animals. What sort of animals she couldn’t say for certain, but they were definitely animal sounds. But, as it was a pet shop, this should not have surprised her. Yet, despite the background sounds of animals, there weren’t any other accompanying scents. She detected not the faintest hint of musk or animal fur, cedar chips or bedding of any sort. Either this man was a clean freak, or the incense was covering any and all scents, pleasant or otherwise, that one might normally associate with a pet shop.
“Please be seated, Miss Anderson,” Count D said, indicating one of the ornately carved sofa and chair set in what appeared to be authentic rosewood. Each piece had beautiful cushions or throw pillows in brilliant Chinese patterns in rich reds, greens and purples.
“I was just about to have some tea,” he murmured, “Would you care to join me?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.” She replied, thinking it rather odd that anyone would be having tea so late in the evening.
“It’s no trouble at all, dear lady. Just have a seat and I will be back shortly.”
“Thank you,” she said, faintly and seated herself on one of the chairs.
Curious despite herself, she swept her gaze over the room, fascinated. She nodded her head in approval at the few pieces of furniture she saw and the many decorative, very expensive looking vases. It wasn’t the way she would chose to decorate her own home - a little too rich for her blood and all the antique vases weren’t exactly kid friendly - but it had a certain amount of opulence to it without seeming too pretentious.
When the Count returned, he was pushing a tea cart laid with white linen, a teapot with matching glassware and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
“So, how may I be of service to you this evening, Miss Anderson?” Count D lifted the teapot and began to pour them each a cup of tea. Fragrant steam whirled up from the cup in front of her. Smiling pleasantly, he then offered the plate of cookies to Mary and she accepted one with her own small smile of gratitude. It had been a long, emotional few days and a bit of chocolate was just what she wanted to take the edge off her stress.
“I was told by Tina Payton that you might be able to help me… and my son.” Mary bit into the cookie. It was superb, soft and tasty.
“Perhaps I can at that.” Count D murmured. He took a sip of his own tea and glanced at her over the rim of his cup. “But first I will need to know the nature of the help you require.”
“Yes, of course.”
Slowly and haltingly at first, Mary explained to Count D about her and Leon’s camping trip to Timberline Lake Park. And then she went on to describe the dreadful attack and the events after the surgery. She kept the night she had spent in John Orcot’s arms to herself. There was no need for anyone but themselves to know about that. It had been special, and she hoped that John felt the same. But above all, it was, most importantly, private.
“Miss Anderson,” Count D set down his now empty teacup and sighed sadly. “I am sorry, but as I’m sure you already know, there is no cure for Lycanthrope Disorder.”
Mary bowed her head and felt her eyes prick as tears threatened. “I guess I kind of did know that already. The doctor pretty much told me as much but I was hoping…” She looked up and peered into the shadows of the hood, desperate for answers that she feared didn’t exist. “But surely there must be something you could do?”
“Dr. Petersons has ordered blood tests for tomorrow afternoon,” she continued in a rush, the words tumbling out in an unchecked flood in her desperation. “If Leon is diagnosed with Lycanthrope Disorder, they are going to take him away from me, forever. I don’t think I could live if that happened. My son is my life, my world… my everything. He’s the only family I have left.”
Tears slipped from her eyes and she found that she couldn’t stop them. The idea of losing her son to death was intolerable. The idea that he may live but be separated from her because of circumstances beyond their control was even worse. It ripped her up inside that this seemed to be a no-win situation. There had to be something she could do. There had to be.
“Please. There must be something I can do. I would do anything, anything to save him.”
Count D sat still and silent as a statue, his face as ever covered by the overhanging shadow of his hood. After what seemed like a very, very long time, he spoke, obviously picking each word carefully.
“There may be something I can do for you, Miss Anderson.” He said, “But there are no guarantees that my plan would even work.”
Mary bolted upright, her heart thudding in her chest. She dashed away her tears. “Please, I’ll do anything you ask if it would only save my son!”
“I have a son of my own, Miss Anderson. He…” The Count hesitated and she detected a hint of pain in his voice for a moment before he was able to continue. She wondered at this, but knew she would never ask about it. His pain was private and should remain so unless he chose to make it known. “He studied genetic engineering at the State University of New York, in Albany. Their labs were at the cutting edge of biotechnology, at least according to my son. I, of course, know nothing of such matters, but it his research was very important to him.”
He paused and poured himself another cup of tea. “Would you care for more tea, Miss Anderson?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” She hesitated then surprised herself by asking, “Were you and your son close, Count D?”
His lips twitched a small, sad smile. “Not particularly. We were very much alike physically, but our minds were in two separate worlds. Mine in the past, in tradition, his in the realms of science… the future.”
Mary could hear a trace of scorn in his voice and wondered at it.
“We had very different and conflicting views on many matters of importance. And a few years ago we had a, how shall I say, a falling out of sorts. I have not spoken to or seen him since then.”
“That’s so sad,” Mary whispered softly.
“It was rather… unfortunate. But it was, I believe, a necessary thing.” He fell silent and stared into the depths of his cup for several moments.
“One of the projects my son was working on was a chemical compound that theoretically at least could be used to control Lycanthrope Disorder.” He held up his hand abruptly, effectively forestalling any questions or comments she might have had. “I must stress that it was not a cure by any means. But my son believed that his research would bring about some sort of revolution in science world.”
“It was not to be, unfortunately,” He sighed and sipped his tea. “My son argued that if used properly and in conjunction with intensive therapy, the serum he created would enable a werewolf to retain human cognitive powers that would enable said werewolf to control its baser, more animalistic instincts. But he was never able to prove his theory because he could not find anyone who would be willing to provide proper funding for his project.”
Count D fell silent and stared into the depths of the delicate teacup he held in his hand once more, reflecting on his personal thoughts and memories for a short period of time. “As you may or may not know, there existed at that time, and even today I’m sure, a strong anti-werewolf feeling in this country. May I presume that you are aware of what your fellow humans think about werewolves, yes?”
“They’re monsters,” She answered promptly, “Vicious, blood thirsty animals that would kill without compunction,” Realizing what she had just said, she added, somewhat embarrassed, “at least that’s what people say about them.”
“Yes,” Count D said, nodding, “That’s exactly how humans see them. And because they are considered monsters, werewolves are hated, feared… and hunted. Because, you see, it is Mankind’s nature to destroy that which they fear or do not understand. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes, it is.” She whispered her agreement with a sad nod of her head, “It is.”
And this prejudice was what her son, her poor, sweet, innocent boy, would face for the rest of his life. Endless persecution, endless fear and hatred and for no other reason than he was, now, different. Even if he were to never harm a single living being, that fear would persist and taint his very existence. It hardly seemed fair.
“I just happen to have some of his experimental serum.” Count D announced suddenly. “There have been some animal experimentation, a practice I find most distasteful, but no human, or, shall I say, werewolf trials were done. It has not been approved by the United States,” he waved his hand vaguely as if trying to pluck words from thin air, “Food and Drug Administration?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Mary confirmed, her heart thudding heavily, “the FDA.”
“FDA… yes,” he set his teacup on its saucer. “As I said, I have access to some of this serum, untested as it is. And I would be willing to let you have a small amount.”
“You would really be willing to just give it to me?” Mary gasped, “Just like that? But why? What’s the catch? I mean, what do you get out of it? ” A hand flew to her mouth, too late to stop the suspicion in her voice.
“You are quite right to ask about a ‘catch’ as you call it, young lady.” Count D replied lightly. “And there is one, to be sure. Everything has its price, Miss Anderson. Everything. And sometimes the price can be very high, I’ve found. The only real question is if you are willing to pay that price to save your son’s life.”
“But what’s in it for you?” Mary repeated, bewildered and excited at once.
“The survival of my people, Miss Anderson,” Count D stated, spreading his hands out in front of him. “No more, no less.”
“I – I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” He sighed sadly. “But if you would be so kind as to allow me to explain?”
“Yes, of course. Please do.”
Instead of replying immediately, Count D raised his voice and called out in what was unmistakably a commanding voice what she thought might be Chinese.
From the deeper shadows of the room, a small figure appeared, a child of roughly four years of age. It was one of the most beautiful children Mary had ever seen, with short, chin length hair as black as midnight, pale skin and… she couldn’t believe it was possible, one yellow and one purple eye! It must be the dim light playing tricks on her eyes for surely no human being could have such eyes.
“What a beautiful little girl,” She exclaimed as the child came up and stood beside Count D.
A strange smile played along Count D’s lips. “Indeed, as you say, Miss Anderson, a beautiful child, my only grandchild.”
For some reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on, Mary felt like the Count was misleading her somehow. But she put aside that thought aside. What would he gain by lying to her?
The child turned puzzled eyes to her grandfather. Count D said something to her in his language, and then the child nodded as if in understanding. “Come, child,” he said, patting the sofa next to him, “Be seated and allow this lovely woman to look at you.”
“Then that means she is your son’s daughter?”
“Yes, the child is of my son.” Count D replied and again Mary got the feeling that the answer was worded as to be deliberately evasive, but how this was so, she was not certain. But still, the feeling persisted that all was not as it seemed.
“My grandchild is the last of our line,” Count D stated matter-of-factly, “But was born… different in some very fundamental ways that are not easily noticed. As the child is under my care now, it is my duty to assure that a proper mate can be found. It is essential that this be done for if one is not found, our bloodline will cease to exist.”
Mary knew very little about the Chinese, but family and the good bloodlines was apparently very important to them. So she sort of understood why a grandfather would be concerned with finding a proper mate for his granddaughter. But what did that have to do with her and her son?
“I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand what this has to do with Leon, unless…” Suddenly something in her mind clicked. “Wait a second here. Are you saying that you want to arrange a marriage between my son and your grandchild?”
“That is essentially correct, Miss Anderson.” Count D confirmed with a small nod of his head. “With your consent they would be mated.”
“But why an arranged marriage?” she blurted, finding the use of the word mated somewhat awkward. “I mean, no one makes arranged marriages any more. Besides, in America we marry whomever we want to. It’s called freedom of choice. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
Count D stiffened and Mary wondered if she had said the wrong thing and offended him. She hadn’t meant to, but she had been so shocked by the idea that her mouth ran off ahead of her brain. Here he was offering her his assistance and she carelessly swatted his proposal down without even giving it a second’s consideration. Was it really so odd that he would be willing to go so far as to arrange a marriage between two children? No one did that anymore. Or at least, no one did it anymore in the United States. But apparently it was still a common practice in many less developed parts of the world.
“I understand that you find the idea of an arranged marriage to be a bit… backwards, I suppose. But who else would you have your son take as a mate, Miss Anderson?” Count D demanded, and his voice tight as if he was trying to control a great deal of anger. “What woman’s daughter would accept him with his current condition? What mother would be willing to taint her bloodlines, her future children with the werewolves’ curse?”
Mary dropped her eyes. “I guess I never thought of it that way,” she mumbled, her cheeks hot with shame. “But isn’t it a bit early to start thinking about such things? I mean, they’re just children after all.”
“Yes, they are children,” Count D agreed quietly, “but are you really willing to risk your son’s life by refusing outright my proposal?”
He caught her eyes and held them with his own almost as if he were trying to compel her with his will alone. “In his current state, your son has no chance of surviving the Change. It cellular reconstruction and the resulting devastating side effects, of which you have had a small sample already, will surely kill him for he is too young and weak to live through such a traumatic alteration.”
All the color drained from Mary’s face for she knew he spoke the truth. As Dr. Petersons had already stated, it would take a miracle to save her son. And now that miracle was being offered to her and the only condition was that her son would marry a young Chinese girl sometime in the distant future. Was that really such a terrible arrangement?
“And if I agree?” She asked tearing her eyes away from the Count’s with considerable effort. “Are you saying that Leon and your grandchild will be engaged to marry at some future date?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying,” Count D replied easily. “If you agree, a contract will be drawn up, and they will eventually be mated.”
There’s that word again, Mary thought with a flash of irritation – mated. He makes it sound like he’s arranging to breed two dogs, not arranging a marriage of convenience between two innocent children.
Her irritation evaporated in a moment and she breathed a small sigh of resignation.
When all was said and done, what choice did she have? By agreeing to this archaic marriage deal, she would have a means in which to save her son’s life. Surely that was worth something? And maybe their two children would actually grow and end up liking each other… maybe even love each other. Stranger things had been known to happen.
Or maybe, she thought, they’ll come to realize that this is one great big mistake and decide to dissolve their engagement some time in the future.
But for right now, the only way Leon would have any future at all is if she went along with Count D’s request.
“Okay, fine.” Mary sighed, “Let’s say I agree to this thing? What sort of guarantees can you offer me?”
“I can offer no guarantees, only hope.” Count D said smoothly, his voice colored with eagerness. “I will give you the serum and you must give it to your son as soon as you return to the hospital. Make him drink it and be certain that he downs every last drop. That is very important.”
“Okay, and then what?”
“The serum is a fast acting one. It will send the disease into remission, much the same way cancer does when it’s aggressively treated. If all goes well, there will be no trace of Lycanthropy Disorder in his blood, his tissue, or his bodily fluids. It will be as if he were never infected.”
He smiled and there was a bit of smug triumphant in his voice, obvious pride in his son’s medical miracle. “If the doctors are unable to detect the disease, then there will be no reason to institutionalize the boy. He will be free to leave the hospital once he has recovered from his many wounds.”
“But how long will the disease be in remission?” Mary asked, almost afraid to hope.
“That I cannot say,” Count D replied with sad reluctance. “It may be weeks, months or even years.”
Mary opened her mouth, but he held up a hand and silenced her as effectively as if he had gagged her.
“The point is, Miss Anderson, that your son will have a much better chance of surviving the Change if he were fully matured and healthy. As he is now, he has no hope.”
“And if he doesn’t make it to adulthood?” Mary whispered, almost afraid to speak the words aloud in fear that she would jinx her son. “What will happen then?”
Count D gave a small shrug. “Then the contract will be null and void, of course. But, believe me when I say that it is in both of our interests that your son lives.”
Mary wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she kept her silence. She knew that she would do anything to save her son’s life, even if that meant that she would have to agree to marry him off to a complete stranger.
“Now, if your son should come to full mental and physical maturity in eighteen years, then your son and my grandchild will be mated on your son’s twenty-fifth birthday.” He smiled at her indulgently. “And, if all goes well, and the gods shall grant their joining, offspring will be formed from their union.”
“Okay, it’s a deal then.” Mary stood before she could change her mind. She thrust out her hand and this time, Count D rose and clasped it in his. His grandchild watched them with wide eyes, not knowing that one of life’s biggest choices had just been taken out of her hands. “You get me this miraculous serum, and you’ve got yourself a future-son-in-law.”
Count D smiled again and shook her hand with restrained enthusiasm. He released her hand, and then clapped his own together happily. “This is good news indeed. I shall go and draw up the contract for you to sign immediately. Then I shall fetch the serum. If all goes well, we shall be seeing each other again in eighteen years.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
CHAPTER 05
