The Rare Bookseller Part 120: Oliver's Reward
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tw: mind control, memories of past abuse
December 1925
It was the first of his memories to return clearly.
Lex could see it like it was yesterday. He was standing there in the choir, in his thick sweater, his pants legs slightly damp from trodding through the snow, and a man in black was looking at him with hollow, cruel eyes. And Alexander sang, the last time he would sing for pleasure, and impressed that man so much that the entire life he could have had was snatched away.
After all these years, he could hardly remember anything else about being human. He couldn’t remember how the sun felt on his skin. He was left with only vague impressions of the house where he had grown up, warm and safe and appreciated. He couldn’t remember Anders’ smile or his laugh, only the tortured look on his face when he recognized that Lex had murdered him. That life had all faded away into whispers and smoke and could-have-beens.
His sire had ripped it all away from him, and it could never be restored. He thought he had made his peace with it, but the sudden and painful return of his memories tore those old wounds open again.
His sire was dead. Fitz had told him that, again and again, and he could remember that too, how he had stood in a trance while Oliver and Fitz did what he could not. He remembered his sire crumbling into dust. His sire was dead, and Lex was still here, and somehow, that didn’t seem like it should be possible.
His sire was dead, but the pain and misery he caused was left behind in a million scars on Lex’s memory. Lex was still here, but those years were all gone, and nothing could bring them back.
Lex knew he should feel happy. He should feel free. But all he could feel was the crushing weight of regrets from long ago. He remembered the dark and the cold, locked in the basement for what felt like years, trying to imagine some warmth to sustain him. He remembered Fitz’s helpless body being puppeted, forcing him to drive knives and stakes into every part of Lex’s body. He remembered all those nights of quiet despair and days of restless sleep.
“Lex?” Fitz was in the doorway of the bedroom, concerned. Lex looked up and saw him, really saw him. He had been human once, with a future, just as Lex had been, and yet Lex had still taken that all away, just as his sire had.
When Lex didn’t respond, Fitz entered the room anyway and sat down on the side of the bed. “I guess some of your memories came back, and they weren’t pleasant.”
“No, they weren’t,” Lex admitted.
“It’s over now.” Fitz was trying to be comforting, Lex could tell. “Your sire is gone, and whatever you just remembered — it’s not going to happen again.”
“But it already did happen,” said Lex, trying to get his despair across to Fitz. “It’s too late for either of us. We can’t undo the things that were done to us. We can’t go back to the lives we could have had.”
“No,” said Fitz thoughtfully. “No, we can’t.”
“You should hate me. You should want to stab me a dozen times with a silver knife, just as you did to him. I was the one who took your humanity away.”
“I asked you to do it.”
Lex shook his head. “No, before that. At the auction house, when I purchased you.”
“That should be an awful memory for me, I guess,” said Fitz with a bitter laugh. “Maybe I should hate you. Sometimes I think I might hate Lily — it’s her fault much more than yours. But somehow, I don’t. Maybe I just wanted someone to want me, even if it was in that perverse way. Or maybe the fear is just fading from my mind now that I’ve been a vampire for nearly half my life.”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t hate you, even if you deserve it. Isn’t that funny?” Fitz cupped one of Lex’s cheeks. “And I know that we can never undo the things of the past, but — does that really mean that we can never be merry again? Maybe not today or tomorrow, but years from now, when all of this has faded?”
“I don’t know,” said Lex honestly. “I want to. Some part of me badly wants to forget all of this and enjoy my days. Enjoy you.” He leaned in closer to Fitz, nuzzling his hair and neck. “But another part of me feels as though I can’t. As if the second I let myself go, my sire will be back to steal my happiness away again. Or worse — that I’ll become like him in some way, only taking pleasure in cruelty.”
“You’re not like him,” Fitz reassured him.
“I stole you away, just as he did with me.” That night at choir practice still haunted him each time he closed his eyes. If only he had stayed at home to read. If only he had been meek, rather than showing off. If only he had rejected his teacher’s offer. He wondered if Fitz were sometimes haunted by that night Lily had captured him, but he didn’t dare ask. “Sometimes I wish my sire had taken anyone else but me, any of the other boys of the choir. I would have gone about my days none the wiser, as some other poor soul was tortured and turned. It’s an awful thing to wish.”
“I don’t think it’s awful, just to wish it.”
“I didn’t only wish it. I brought people to him, people I captured off the streets, so they could serve as refreshments at his ball. I did it only so that I would not be tormented myself.”
Fitz took that in, and Lex could see the thoughts churning behind his eyes. “If you’re awful,” he said finally, “then so am I, because I’m sure I would have done the same. I would have thrown a dozen people to hell just to escape your sire. More, even.” He gazed into Lex’s eyes. “Do you truly regret what you did?”
“I think I regret that I don’t regret it,” Lex admitted. “Sometimes I fancy myself a good man, a kind man, despite being a loathsome vampire.”
Fitz smiled. “Rubbish. If you were a good man, I would’ve been bored with you an instant. I’ve always been terrible myself, you know, and it’s a comfort that we can be terrible forever.”
“A comfort. Yes, you have been a comfort,” says Lex, pulling him closer, needing to hold him. “And you’ll stay with me now, won’t you?”
“I’ll stay,” Fitz confirmed, as if it could have been any other way.
What would he have done if Fitz did hate him? Lex understands the uncomfortable truth, that he would have forced Fitz to stay anyway, would have used his mesmerism to remove that hatred from his head and make him content with the situation. He wouldn’t even hesitate. Even now, with Fitz voluntarily staying, some part of him desired to assert his control.
Just as he asserted his control with Oliver.
Oliver. The thought of his beloved thrall made Lex’s gut churn. Oliver was half the reason he had wanted to fight, to see his thrall spared, to have his thrall all to himself. But it had been Oliver who had freed Lex, in the end. All the kind treatment and spoiling on the Earth couldn’t repay the debt Lex now owed to him.
There was one thing that Oliver had wanted. One thing that Lex could give him, if he had the strength to do it. A memory was bubbling up in his mind, the memory of Oliver when he lay helpless on his hospital bed. Lex had been so glad to find him and relieve him of his pain. And Oliver had begged — begged for his autonomy, pleaded with Lex not to put his mind back under his control. Lex had ignored it, of course, as he wasn’t about to keep a thrall without putting them in a pleasant trance. He wouldn’t be like his sire, forcing him to suffer, drinking from Oliver with nothing to dull the pain.
And yet…
The way Oliver had begged had stuck in the back of Lex’s mind. Lex was so sure that his mesmeric abilities could bring about a sense of peace and bliss. He’d seen the gorgeous smiles on the faces of those he’d ensnared, free of fear or doubt, eager to obey. It was a mercy that Lex could bring them pleasure in their captivity and ease their mind of suffering.
But if it were truly as pleasant as it seemed, then why had Oliver struggled against it so much? What if all he wanted, even now, was to have his mind and his bookshop restored to him, to leave the world of vampires behind forever and allow time to heal the pain? What if Oliver was no different than Lex had been when he had served, his true feelings hidden under a veneer of artificial happiness?
Lex dreaded it. The last thing he wanted to do was let Oliver go, losing his perfect thrall at the very moment when Lex was free to enjoy him. But Oliver had been the one to drive a knife into his sire’s gut, the one who provided an opening for Fitz to finish the task. Oliver had given Lex his freedom. How could Lex keep him here if he so badly wanted to leave?
“What are you thinking, Lex?” Fitz asked.
Lex swallowed hard. “I have to let Oliver go.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“It’s the only way, the only way to repay him for what he’s done for us. I can’t keep him in captivity when he freed us from ours.”
Fitz looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, but… you still have to keep a thrall, unless you plan to take your meals from the streets from now on. Don’t you dare tell me you plan on wasting away without blood, now that we finally get a chance to be happy.”
“I’ll take another thrall,” Lex confirmed. “I’ll find someone suitable. Surely there must be someone with satisfying blood that I don’t owe a massive debt to.”
“You’re serious. You’re actually serious.” Fitz shook his head. “Of course you’d find some new way to be miserable after everything that’s happened.”
“I have to —”
“I know you think you have to. And I won’t stop you. I’ll still have my Roger, after all. I just know you’ll regret this, though, once you’ve had a chance to think.”
“That’s why I must do it now, tonight, before I have the chance to rationalize my way out of it. If I don’t do it while I have these awful memories fresh in my mind, if I allow myself to become comfortable, I’ll never be able to part with him.”
——
Oliver tried to keep himself in fine spirits as he made himself a little feast out of his freshly stocked pantry. He had basted and seasoned the chicken and put it in the oven, and now he was working at peeling potatoes and putting them on the stove to boil. It was good work, but he was worried about his master, who had run from the room so suddenly in a panic. Mr. Fitz had told Oliver to continue on with his evening, and Oliver had done so uneasily.
He could only assume that it was his master’s memories returning, just as Oliver’s ability to read was slowly coming back to him. Although he didn’t know the extent of what his master had suffered, it was clear that many of those memories would be horrifying to relive again. Oliver only hoped that he could be of some comfort.
He was relieved when his master came down the stairs, accompanied by Mr. Fitz. Although he looked very serious, he favored Oliver with a smile. “I see your preparations are in full swing.”
“Yes, sir. Are you all right? Is there anything I can do for you?”
Alexander put a cold hand on Oliver’s head. “There’s nothing to worry about, only a nightmare,” he said. “I would be quite content to enjoy your company as you make your meal. I’ve enlisted Fitz to show me how to use that camera.”
“Oh, I’m glad you’re going to use it, sir!” Perhaps there had been little to worry about — his master seemed fine, albeit with that undercurrent of melancholy that he always carried. Oliver finished up his potatoes and began to chop some carrots, intending to make them with a bit of honey and salt. Mr. Fitz went to the library to retrieve the camera outfit, and soon Alexander was looking it over curiously as Mr. Fitz pointed out the various features.
“It was clever to get a package that included film, so that he might use it right away,” said Mr. Fitz.
“I was talked into it by a slick salesman, sir,” Oliver admitted as he swirled the carrots in a pan.
“When your food is ready, I want to have a picture of you,” said Alexander, holding up the camera.
Oliver’s eyes widened. His hair and sweater were rumpled messes from having collapsed on the couch after his excursion. He hadn’t had a chance to freshen up since then. “I’m a mess now, sir. Wouldn’t you prefer if I tidied myself?”
“No,” said Alexander firmly. “I want a picture of you exactly as you are now.”
Oliver felt heat in his face as he returned to his carrots. No one had ever wanted a picture of him before. His master wanted to capture how he looked, even if it was far from perfect, and that warmed his heart a bit. It was only a shame that he couldn’t have a picture of his master as well.
Soon, Oliver’s preparations were nearing their end. He pulled the roasted chicken from the oven, and while it was far from the picturesque preparation you might see in some magazine, it smelled heavenly as he carved it. He settled down at the kitchen table with the two vampires and a full plate of food — slices of roasted chicken, potatoes with butter, honeyed carrots, and fresh rolls. As he dug into the bounty on his plate, he remembered how close he had come to never being able to eat a good dinner like this again.
However, it was difficult to fully enjoy his meal with his master staring at him so intently.
“Is something wrong, sir?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said in a tone that clearly indicated that something was wrong.
Still, it was obvious that his master wasn’t willing to share, so all Oliver could do was finish eating and then clean up his plates and pans.
“Might I trouble you for that photograph now?” asked Alexander.
“Oh, yes, sir, that’d be fine.”
Alexander led Oliver into the library and stoked up the fire for light, sitting Oliver on the couch and taking one picture, then another, then a third. Oliver didn’t understand why he was using so much film on such a dull scene, but he supposed his master could do whatever he pleased with the camera and film he had been gifted. As his master lowered the camera, he continued to stare at Oliver, as though drinking in every part of him. Strangely, though, Oliver didn’t sense any intent to feed.
“Sir…?”
Alexander sat down on the couch next to Oliver, stroking his cheek and directing his gaze into his eyes. A low hum emanated from his throat, and Oliver felt trance lapping at the shores of his consciousness, as though he were lying on a beach and allowing the waves to slowly overtake him.
“You have been so loyal, exactly as I commanded,” his master murmured. “You risked yourself to save us all.”
“I did the only thing I could think of, sir,” said Oliver.
“Regardless of why or how, you deserve a reward. And I intend to give it to you.”
Oliver’s breath hitched, not knowing what his master could possibly mean, so ensnared in his spell that he would accept anything his master thought he deserved.
“Just relax now, and allow my influence to recede from your mind.”
And just like that, the waves of pleasure began to retreat. “Sir, what are you…?”
“Hush,” his master commanded, placing a finger on Oliver’s lips. “This is what you wanted. What you asked me for. I’m giving you your freedom.”
“My… freedom… sir?” Oliver couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re… letting me go?”
“That’s right.” He turned away from Oliver and stared into the fire. “When you were restored to yourself, in that hospital room, you begged for me not to put you under. Now I’m going to give you what you asked for.”
Oliver could remember it, certainly. He remembered how he had been relieved to see Alexander but scared of him regardless, frightened of having his mind subdued and at the vampire’s mercy once more. But that had been when the threat of Alexander’s sire still hung over both of their heads like an executioner’s blade. Now, Alexander’s spell was gentle, soothing. Oliver had accepted this place as his home, and felt he could be satisfied with his lot as a vampire’s thrall. The idea that his master would remove him now that the danger was passed, now that they could both be happy, was unthinkable.
“Why, sir?” asked Oliver. “If I’ve done you any wrong, I promise I will correct it.”
“You haven’t done a single thing wrong. You’ve been a perfect thrall, and it will grieve me to let you go,” said Alexander. “But I won’t have you suffer under my care, not with the debt I owe you.”
“I’m not suffering at all now, sir. I’m — I’m happy here, or I could learn to be happy here. I want to serve you.”
“No, you don’t.” Alexander ran a hand through Oliver’s hair. “That was an illusion crafted by Lily, one which I reinforced with my own powers. You never wished to serve a vampire. You only wanted to return to your bookstore to live your quiet life.”
“But that’s not what I want any more, sir,” Oliver protested.
“Only because my spell is still thick in your mind. As soon as I remove it, you’ll no doubt be repulsed by me.”
“I would never be repulsed by you, sir.” There had to be a way to stop this, a way to convince him — but Oliver remembered how hopeless it had been to convince Alexander back in the hospital, when Oliver had been arguing for the opposite of what he wanted now.
What if his master was right? Oliver could remember how he fought and thrashed back in the auction house, when he was dragged from his cell and taken into Miss Lily’s office, determined to not let his mind be taken. He had failed, of course. His mind had been taken quiet thoroughly, and he had come to enjoy that. He didn’t know what part of it was mesmerism and what part of it was his own changing desires.
“You will sleep,” said Alexander, his voice a dark lullaby. “You will sleep, and as you sleep, you will allow me to unbind your thoughts and erase your obedience. I can’t remove all of Lily’s work, but I can undo my own well enough. You will no longer have the unnatural craving to offer me your blood. You will no longer consider me your master.”
Oliver’s eyes grew heavy and began to close, and he fought against it, struggling against his master’s command. Even as he was falling asleep, he felt as though he were waking up, discovering himself deep underwater and drowning, spluttering and coughing as he fought his way to the surface, legs heavy and lungs burning. He didn’t want this. He couldn’t want this. He only wanted to serve his master faithfully for the rest of his days, filled with purpose and no longer alone.
He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t close his eyes. If he slept, he might never see his master again. It was all happening much too quickly, and he wasn’t remotely prepared, and all he wanted was for Alexander to relent and take Oliver back as his beloved servant —
“Sleep,” Alexander commanded, and for a moment Oliver felt as though he were back in the dreadful manor of his master’s sire, fighting to keep his ability to read. Oliver could resist no more than he could resist then, his eyelids shuttering. The last thing he saw was the glimmering tears in his master’s eyes.
Masterlist > Next
Their story is still not over, though.
Next week, Vivian wakes.
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