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An Interview with the Vampire — Chapter/Episode Thirteen: innocence died screaming (honey, ask me, I would know)

a/n: the new trailers for the vampire lestat have me STOKED so I was feeling especially inspired and I sat down and wrote another chapter in, like, a week LOL. also this is the beginning of the a streak of chapters that are best described as mostly angst and misery. consider yourself warned.

relationship: vampire! volt x vampire! eddie x vampire! fem! reader; vampire! eddie x vampire! amir; vampire! amir x vampire! fem! reader; vampire! river x vampire! fem! reader; vampire! harper x mortal! lucinda lavish

series masterlist! || french translations (I do not speak fluent french, so any corrections would be appreciated!)

cws: brothels, prostitution, smoking/cigarettes, crude/sexual humor, murder, gore, violence, periods, blood, religious themes, age gap relationship, toxic/unhealthy relationship, unreliable narrators, mentions of rape and sexual assault, domestic violence, pregnancy, loss of pregnancy/miscarriage, fasting/starvation, slut-shaming, assumed main character death, hallucinations, generalized descriptions of the horrors of war, implied sexual situations but there’s no actual smut, spoilers for s2ep4 of amc’s iwtv!

summary: Falling in love is easier said than done. You, Eddie, and Harper walk different paths on that topic, but you always end up coming to the same destination together, as a family. A fractured family, but a family nonetheless… until Amir reveals something to Harper, in a heated moment, that causes her to finally pull the blindfold from your eyes and tell you what’s really been going on with Eddie… and some of the things he’s been hiding from you. Eddie and Dolly don’t really agree on much in the present day, but they both seem to be haunted by their memories. Eddie, in Dolly’s point of view, is on the figurative end, while Dolly’s –“Don’t be afraid. Just start the tape.” – experiencing more literal fragmentations of her 1975 interview with the vampires Canary and Eddie Watts. She grows tired of her broken memories, so she hunts for a solution to her predicament within her computer files. — 24.7k words! [read on ao3!]

“So,” Dolly grabs the script that contains the full play that Harper performed, night after night, for over a year, “how did Harper like being infantilized in your plays?”

“Coven life requires a… letting go of the self.” Like usual, Amir gives some weird answer that makes him look like a saint while Eddie’s half-hearted response would meander around the truth. Man, these fucking vampires are getting predictable. “She carried her water uphill like a seasoned player–”

“–she had her… issues with it.” And there’s the more balanced, truthful response from Eddie as he stands in the middle of the living room, admiring the playbill for the performance while Dolly continues to read from the script.

“Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!” Harper waves her arms around like a madwoman as she pretends to fly about the stage, perfectly displaying the mannerism of a bird in her gaudy, frilly, baby-blue dress.

Suddenly, she stops when Connie, dressed as a maid, walks into the room. There’s a small chase sequence that earns a few laughs from the audience before a high-strung Lady Memoria, who pretends to smoke a cigarette, makes her entrance from stage right.

“Hello, Baby Lu.” Memoria speaks with a certain amount of disdain for the child in question before she flicks her hand in Connie’s direction. “We’ve come to steal your nounou away downstairs to stir our cocktails and serve our canapés, and keep your daddy’s disgusting hands off your dear mama!”

Once she takes a seat on a well-placed chair, Connie rushes up to her before Harper begins to spin in circles with her arms extended once more.

“I’m a birdie! Cheep! Cheep!”

“Madame, your daughter is bewitched by the window,” Connie pretends to speak in a low tone, as if the frantic girl behind her can’t hear what she’s saying, “She thinks she is a real bird.”

“Nounou, I need two mint juleps and four bahinis.” Memoria brushes her off before she closes a pretend door behind her, hiding herself from the crowd before Connie has a chance to respond.

“Yes, Madame,” Connie’s head then snaps towards the window on stage left that Harper pretends to nearly fall out of, “Lulu! Get away from there!”

“I’m a birdie!” Harper hops down before the chase between the pair ensues once more. “Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!”

“Don’t make me use this!” Connie warns as she grabs a hammer and a nail from behind the chair.

“Gonna flap-flap my wings and fly far, far away!” Harper is insistently disobedient as Connie issues one last warning.

“You know I will!”

“Gonna fly far away!” Harper says before she screams in pain when Connie mimics slamming a nail into her foot with the hammer, and the projector shows blood stains flying across the stage as Chairemi steps out and sprays the front row of the audience with fake blood. “Ah! My claw!”

“This is not a claw!” Connie brings the hammer down once more. “It is a foot!”

Harper pretends to sob in her hands before Memoria calls out to Connie once more.

“Nounou! Where are my canapés?”

“Yes, Madame!” Connie hurries off-stage as Harper dramatically peels her hands off of her face, earning a few laughs from the crowd.

“Little birdie Lu’s caught in a trap,” She laments to the crowd, “But she’s flapping her wings, and getting free!”

She waves her arms wildly in the air before she frees her foot from its pretend prison, and the room goes wild when Harper has her gaze set on the window before she dives out of it.

“Birdie loves the breeze!” She screams as the projector shows her falling, falling, falling before she ‘hits’ the ground with a hard thud, produced by one of the drummers in the orchestral pit.

“Lulu?” Connie peaks into the room before a horrified expression appears on her face. It doesn’t last for long, as Memoria comes through the door with a comically large martini glass in her hand.

“Where are the canapés?”

The crowd applauds, whistles, and hoots as Harper falls to the ground, playing dead with extraordinary ability.

“The play was a hit.” Dolly remarks in surprise.

“An unmitigated hit.” Amir corrects.

“They added shows, added seats, sold souvenirs.” Eddie tosses the playbill onto the table, right in front of Dolly before he walks behind Amir’s seat and squeezes his shoulder in support.

“Parisians, who’d long disdained us, started drifting back in again,” Amir looks up to the ceiling, caught up in his own reminiscing, “We even added back a Wednesday French performance.”

“Hmm,” Dolly then looks at the playbill in front of her, “how did the coven take it?”

“Mostly with good grace–”

“–they were bitter.” Eddie interrupts, causing Dolly to lightly snort.

“I hate this song like I hate my mortal father.” Drysdale rolls his eyes, stretching his extended legs ever-so-slightly forward as he listens to Harper sing the beloved tune attached to her play.

“I don’t like windows when they’re closed~”

“I dream that my mortal mother sings it,” Artt fixes up a small prop in front of him, ignoring the way someone’s head bobs up and down underneath Drysdale’s outfit, “while she beats me with a crucifix.”

“Blood Sabbath,” Chairemi calls out, loudly clapping her hands together, “three minutes!”

“Fuck off, three minutes!” Drysdale storms off, leaving Bathsheba to shakily rise from her knees before she carefully wipes something white off from her lips.

“It says here, in the margins, ‘Find Baby Lulu’s inner childlike wonder again,’” Dolly notes as she reads Amir’s handwriting from the script, “And, ‘Harper, if you do absolutely nothing else, at least enunciate.’”

“Those are my notes, but…” Amir trails off. “By the five-hundredth performance, Harper had grown bored with her role. …At least, that’s what Eddie would call it.”

“What would you call it, then?” Dolly dares to ask.

“It wasn’t ennui. It was sabotage.”

~

I hate this fuckin’ stage. I hate this fuckin’ dress. I hate the way my hair is braided straight down the middle, into two equal braids that make me look ten. This is a goddamn humiliation ritual.

Yet, every night, here I am, performin’ the same script.

“I’m going to flap-flap my wings,” I spoke in plain English, the way Amir liked it since my accent was… too much for the Parisian audience, as he would put it. Fine. He wants me to speak plainly? I’ll speak plain and easy and without a thought behind my words. No emotion, no reasonin’, no pain, “and fly far, far away!”

“You have been warned!” Connie seemed to take pleasure in pretendin’ to nail my foot to the stage, as if she wished she could actually do so instead of letting the projector do all of the hard work while Chairemi sprayed the audience with a little bit of blood.

“Cheep. Cheep. Cheep.” I flew slowly, without any motivation behind my movement as Connie rushed off-stage when Memoria called for her. “Little birdie Lulu’s caught in a trap, but she’s flapping her wings and getting free.”

Dreadin’ every step I took, I walked towards that damn window and stepped through it after I addressed the audience, who spoke my final line for me.

“Little birdie loves the breeze!”

At least they’re enjoyin’ themselves while I suffer durin’ the performance.

I don’t even like singin’ anymore. I mean, I didn’t love it beforehand, but I hate bein’ babied by the audience ‘n the coven every night. I am a strong, mighty vampire who could kill them all if I wanted to–!

One night, I just mumbled through the song ‘n my lines, lettin’ the audience do all the hard work for me since they know every word by heart. Hell, half the fuckin’ audience is dressed like me. They willingly dress like a child while I feel like I have to put on this costume every night so I have a place in the coven. Ain’t that somethin’?

I gave a half-hearted bow to thunderous applause, even though I could feel the stares from everyone off-stage, as well as Amir from the second-floor balcony. Eddie was there, too, and I hated the way I could feel the pity radiatin’ from his body. I don’t need any pity. ‘Specially not from him.

…At least one little birdie — Canary — got free, even if ‘m the one who has to suffer for it. I barely see her anymore, and when I do, it’s the happiest I’ve seen her since I was a child. Hell, you’d think I joined the coven for her, and not the other way around.

Or, maybe, Canary joined the coven for herself. She chose somethin’ that isn’t for me or for Eddie for fuckin’ once. She’s finally decided to live her own life. Good for her.

…I still miss my mama, though. I miss the way her fingers would comb through my hair as she sang me some French lullaby before she apologized for someone treatin’ me like a child, even though it wasn't her fault. It wasn't ever her fault.

Sometimes, it feels like Canary is the only one who sees me for who I am: a grown woman stuck in a child’s body.

I don’t know where she’s off to most nights, but by the smile on her face and the faint marks on her neck that returns with her every night at curfew, I can take a guess that she’s not out writin’ her novel for hours on end. Whoever’s got her attention is very, very lucky.

You might think it’s Eddie, but Canary seems to be avoidin’ him, too. When he comes to visit the coven, and he’s not too busy lickin’ the dirt off of Amir’s boot, he’s always askin’ me ‘bout where she is, or who she visits, or when he can see her next. He never asks me ‘bout me. What a fuckin’ self-centered asshole.

The funny thing is… they do talk. At least once a week, under Amir’s watchful eye. They go out into the Parisian streets on the one night a week that we perform in French, and they return a little before sunrise. Apparently, Canary ain’t tellin’ Eddie much. Yet again, those two always communicated better with their bodies than their words… yuck.

Anyways, it doesn’t surprise me when Amir singles me out after the performance and has me stand center-stage while he belittles my performance in front of the entire coven. Chairemi’s cleanin’ out the seats, which are covered in cigarettes and wrappers and mushed-up food that looks utterly disgusting, while Eddie sits far in the back of the house, arm wrapped around his beloved wife that happened to slip into the theater a little earlier than normal.

Canary looked shocked when Eddie came up to her, and he practically dragged her into a seat before speakin’ to her in a low tone. Before long, surprise was replaced by sweet smiles, and all was well in the Watts household once more.

…Besides anythin’ to do with me. Since the moment I was turned, my life hasn’t been about me. What a joke.

“Lackluster. Bromidic. Unacceptable.” Amir continues to rattle on an endless list of unflattering adjectives in my direction while I hang my head low, acceptin’ my fate.

“Yes, Maître.”

“So, explain to the company why the five-hundredth performance of My Baby Loves Windows felt more like a slog than a celebration?”

The performance felt like a slog ‘cause the fuckin’ script is a slog.

“Maître, I think that… I–”

“–Wave your words to shore, please.” Amir cuts me off before I have a chance to gather my words, which makes me huff in response.

Fine. He wants to hear my real thoughts? He can have ‘em.

“‘M a fierce vampire trapped in the body of a little girl.” I feel Canary’s eyes land on me as I tell Amir what’s been on my mind every night for months. “‘M reminded of it every night, of my existence, buttonin’ up this dress and singin’ and smilin’, while the mortals point ‘n laugh. I relive every condescendin’ look or fuckin’ comment I have ever had to suffer.”

I don’t wanna do this anymore. I’d rather hide in the back ‘n paint props or dispose of bodies or whatever the fuck they need me to do. I can’t do this. It’ll break me.

“I… I have lost my passion for on-stage work. I think I prefer backstage work.”

“Huh,” Amir clicks his tongue in disapproval before he turns to the coven’s playwright, “Chairemi?”

“Yes, Maître?” She answers, standin’ at attention while he narrows his eyes at me.

“What are you holding in your hand?”

“Popcorn bag,” Chairemi holds up the object in her left hand, then her right, “and a prophylactic.”

“And why, as the author of My Baby Loves Windows, would you humble yourself thus?” Amir’s lips quirk up when she immediately answers.

“It is a privilege to work in this theater. I do what I am asked, and I do it gratefully.”

Privilege my ass. The rest of the coven seems to disapprove of her response as well, blowin’ kisses to Chairemi after Drysdale and Bathsheba do it, as a way to mimic Chairemi’s ass-kissin’.

“And your nomadic passion, Harper,” God, the way Amir says my name is irritatin’, “owes your playwright an apology.”

“Sorry, Chairemi.” I, of course, apologize because what the fuck else am I goin’ to do?

“Oh, you’re grand.” Chairemi waves me off before she throws the items in her hand into a large trash bin.

“To help you rediscover your passion for Lulu, you’ll no longer remove your costume.” Canary’s eyes drill into the back of Amir’s skull as he punishes me. “You’ll sleep in it, rehearse in it, feed in it, hunt in it. You’ll live with Lulu off-stage, until she returns to you onstage.”

I locked eyes with Canary, who placed a hand over her heart before she tried to stand. Eddie pulled her back down as he raised his eyebrows at me. Me, of all people! Not the man who’s torturin’ me for kicks.

Me. Just me, always me.

Don’t.

I repeat that word in my head, over and over again, so Canary knows not to say anything. I don’t want her gettin’ in the middle of this. She doesn’t need to fight my battles. She doesn’t need to fight any battles. The war she wages within herself every day is enough for her to bear.

“And, yet, the audience sang along in full voice.” Drysdale murmurs, head bowed slightly as Bathsheba rubs his shoulders.

“The red hands of clapping cattle are not the measure of the Theatre Des Vampires.” Amir calmly refutes Drysdale's claim, and Drysdale pushes Bathsheba off of him before he stalks towards Amir with an air of unabashed confidence and control about him. The kind that made me respect him. “If they were, then your mugging and pandering would have us standing room only to the decade.”

“Nicely volleyed, Maître, but why single out our sister,” Drysdale stands next to me when he stops movin’ towards Amir, “when nomadic passion has infected the entire company?”

“Has it?”

“Maître might not have noticed,” Lady Memoria addresses him next, foldin’ her arms over her chest as Drysdale looks over at her in approval, “as he has been nomadically attending the Theatre Des Vampires.”

“And the infection spread, what, almost a year and a half ago?” Drysdale asks before Memoria answers his question, and I can hear the smoke comin’ out of Bathsheba’s ears as I feel the anger radiatin’ off of her like wave after wave of heat on a hot New Orleans day.

“When a certain vampire was granted dispensation from coven membership–”

“–It’s Eddie.” Finally, Eddie decides to pipe up as he places a hand over Canary’s body, to protect her from what may come next. “I have a name.”

“Eddie takes all of the proper precautions.” Amir says before Daisuke furrows his eyebrows, clearly displeased by what’s goin’ on.

“He reveals himself in the cafés, the salons and gallerias–”

“–I keep my business tight,” Eddie argues back, “thank you.”

“Maybe his human friends ask why he can only meet at dark?” Artt theorizes before Connie jumps in afterwards.

“He reads books during Blood Sabbath!”

“I’ll loan it to you when ‘m done,” He then glances at Canary, pressing a kiss to her cheek before he smiles into her skin, “as long as it’s okay with the author.”

“It’s still a work in progress, my love–”

“–oh… Then, maybe, they both should be punished!” Connie screeches, and I can’t help but snap ‘cause of how far we’ve derailed the conversation.

“This is not about Canary or Eddie!”

“Discipline Harper for bumping into the scenery, but let Eddie and Canary run wild?” Drysdale then looks to Canary, who softly whines before she hides in Eddie’s arms. “We know what you’ve been doing, sister.”

She shudders before she looks up at Eddie, who mutters some quiet, shallow words of reassurance to her, while Memoria feels the need to pipe up once more.

“It’s a show of shallow power–”

“–what do you think you’re doing?!?” Bathsheba hisses before she storms off to confront Memoria, and I know this won’t end without a fight. These vampires might actually be worse than Volt with their theatrics, which is an accomplishment in itself.

“And you do this for what?” Drysdale continues on, ignoring the fight that’s about to break out behind him. “Is it thirst? Is it love? What is he exactly? Are you companions?”

“Yes,” is what Amir answers–

“No.”

–which directly contradicts what comes out of Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie is a lot of fuckin’ things. A liar, a thief, a tormentor… but you can’t say that he’s not loyal. He is stupidly loyal to Canary, and he’d never call anyone else his companion. To him, it’s always been her. I’d wager that it’ll always be her. There is no Eddie Watts without Canary Watts. She is the Northern Star, the sun he cannot hope to touch or observe directly, the person he cannot live without. If she met the fire, he would join her soon afterwards.

After a moment of awkward silence and tense looks exchanged between Amir and Eddie, Drysdale smirks like he’s won all of the money in the world until Bathsheba speaks again.

“Put your tits back in your bloomers, slut!”

She leaps at Memoria, tearing at fabric and skin as she takes them both to the ground. They snarl and scream like freshly released hellions until Curt and Rod move to separate them.

…Of all the vampires to run into, of all the covens in the world, why’d I have to associate myself with them?

~

Eddie knows what conversation awaits him when Amir grabs his shirt, trying to hide himself from Eddie after their amorous encounter mere moments ago.

“If it’s not companionship, what is it?”

Eddie had two companions in America. One is dead, and the other is slipping through his fingers as the years go by. He knows he’s holding onto you too tight, but… were you really so desperate to escape him?

“It’s whatever you want to call it.” Eddie noncommittally says as Amir lights a cigarette.

“An affair? A romance?”

“That works for me,” Eddie’s eyes fixate on a candle at the edge of the bed, and he lights it with his mental power before he extinguishes the flame in the same way, “‘Companion’ works, too. It’s not the word I would use.”

He says that, but he doesn’t mean that Amir is his companion. It’s you. It’s always been you. You are the one Eddie has tied his destiny to, for better or for worse. He thought you were of the same opinion, so what changed? Was it you? Was it him?

Sure, you and Eddie speak once a week, with Amir’s hawk eyes watching you the entire time, but it isn’t like it used to be. It isn’t how Eddie wants it to be.

Your dates are short and sweet — a small stroll around a few boulevards before you return to the coven for the night. You spend most of the night talking Eddie’s ear off about your novel, gossip within the coven, how Harper is doing, or about your adventures with River.

He’s heard a lot about this River. Eddie has tried to ask Amir about her, but he remains tight-lipped about the whereabouts and personality of this mysterious woman. Whoever she is, she’s consumed your attention fully, and Eddie can’t help but be a little envious. He’d do anything for you within a moment’s notice, and he thought that this would earn him some sort of preferential treatment with you.

Yet again, Eddie remembers how you always got shoved to the side whenever Eddie fell back into Volt’s clutches. So maybe these are his just desserts. Maybe.

“So, it’s not whatever I want to call it, then?” Amir seems frustrated as he moves his legs off of the bed, reaching for his pants so he can begin to dress his lower half.

“What was the name of the place where Canary ‘n I first met?” Eddie suddenly asks, drawing confusion onto Amir’s face with the question.

“L’Oiseau Chanteur.”

“Azalea Hall,” Eddie corrects his lover, “L’Oiseau Chanteur was the name of the bar we owned together.”

“Well, you don’t talk about that time in your life very much.”

“No, I don’t. So it’s okay if you don’t remember those details,” Eddie reassures Amir, “‘cause that’s how this settled, and that’s great. This is great. What we got is great.”

Eddie swears he only took his eyes off of the candle for a second, but when his eyes return to the flame, a ghostly image of Volt is leaning in with a cigarette, trying to light it with the small fire. Spitefully, Eddie extinguishes the flame with his breath, but not before Volt manages to light his cigarette.

“It’s just not a companionship, then.” Amir defeatedly mumbles as he buttons his dress shirt over his toned, muscular chest.

“Oh, God, how do you manage it?” Volt sighs as he releases a cloud of noxious fumes — courtesy of the cigarette in his hands — into the air.

Eddie ignores Volt, choosing to deal with the real vampire in front of him. Eddie thought this was fun and occasional. Amir, apparently, had a different idea.

“We see each other when we want to,” Eddie says, “And when we want to be alone, we’re alone. And that’s good, it’s easy.”

“You are not alone. You pine after the woman who has stolen your heart, as well as mine,” Amir’s confession earns a guffaw from Volt, “This arrangement isn’t easy for me. You don’t understand the danger I risk every night for you, especially when it comes to those weekly meetings with your wife, and how that danger compounds with every slight.”

“What slights?” Eddie shrugs nonchalantly as Amir takes a seat next to him on the bed, deadly serious as he addresses Eddie.

“You rarely join us for a hunt. You read novels during performances–”

“–Canary asked me to be her second set of eyes when it comes to her writin’.” And Eddie is desperate to please you, desperate to bridge the sudden gap that separates you from him, so he agrees and reads them during the plays. So what? “I’ve seen those plays a hundred times!”

“I keep your secret.” Amir lays the nail in the metaphorical coffin with that one, causing Eddie to look down towards his folded hands as Volt decides to pipe up at the most inopportune of times.

“What? What’s the secret?” When Eddie doesn’t answer, Volt takes the liberty of answering for him. “Oh, I’m the secret. Eddie, darling, do you notice how hot the room gets when you two talk about the secret?”

Eddie looks back, lighting the candle once more, as a way to distract him from Volt’s words. And, once again, Eddie’s mind goes back to you and how you’re blissfully unaware of how Amir knows of what Eddie did that night.

He’ll ask for forgiveness later… maybe when he’s dead? Who knows.

“Progress.” Amir comments before Eddie hums in agreement.

“It only seems to work when I think of shit that pisses me off.”

Volt. The ache in his heart that he feels for you. Volt. The weight of a thousand lies resting upon his shoulder. Volt. The absolute mess he’s made between him and Harper, and how much he’s failed her as a father.

…Did he forget to mention Volt?

“I try and find the vulnerability within the object.” Amir suggests while Eddie tries to find a happy medium between their two worlds.

“So, you want me to come around more?”

“Yes, that would help,” Amir lets himself smile for the briefest of moments, “I’ll find a way to make Canary stay. She can be with you on the nights that you dedicate your full attention to the performances and the coven.”

Amir doesn’t have to tell Eddie twice.

“Okay, then, I’ll come around more.”

A rogue, awkward silence plagues the room before Amir softly exhales.

“I have to get back. Curfew.”

While they aren’t companions, Eddie still has strong feelings for him.

“I love you.” Eddie murmurs before Amir leans in, placing a guiding hand on Eddie’s jaw before Amir kisses him.

“I love you.” Amir whispers that loving sentiment back before Volt cackles in the background.

He swiftly exits while Volt continues to let laughter fall from his lips.

“You promised you wouldn’t talk!” Eddie hisses to Volt, who grins like he’s won it all.

“I love you.” Volt mocks Amir before Eddie haphazardly blows out the candle, slamming his head down on the pillow in defeat right afterwards.

~

Dolly narrows her eyes at one of the two vampires in the room.

“Are you schizophrenic, Eddie?”

She’s not joking, not mocking, not trying to be mean. She’s kind of concerned about Eddie’s mental health right now. Well, concerned is putting it lightly.

“...No?”

Very strong answer from the vampire in question. …Not.

“Did you consider yourself schizophrenic at the time?” Dolly follows up as Eddie looks at her, a bit puzzled.

“I’m not sure the term applies to a vampire.” Eddie says before — who would’ve fucking guessed it — Amir jumps in with a well-timed answer.

“Perhaps, when the book is published, enterprising psychotherapists will write papers. Until then, you only have Dolly Molloy.”

A pair of orange eyes. A bright sun. A black dress shirt.

Amir sits in front of a scared, younger Dolly.

“He was my biographer, my therapist, my murderer.” Dolly jokes, as a way to distract herself from that flashback, which earns a small chuckle from Eddie.

“Short of a diagnosis, would you like to know what it feels — felt — like?”

Dolly’s fingers fly across the keyboard at that Freudian slip before she answers him.

“Yeah, sure, why not?”

“I could feel the movement of air with his movements, his breath on the back of my neck,” Eddie continues to speak, but Dolly focuses on how… removed Amir seems as he stares off into the distance, like Volt’s appearances in Eddie’s mind have caused him pain, too, “If I were to reach out and touch his hand, I wouldn’t say it was his hand… but it was not not his hand.”

Amir’s gaze snaps back to Eddie, a small frown on his face, before Dolly decides to address him.

“And you weren’t feelin’ Volt in the room?”

“No.” He calmly answers, as if he wasn’t staring off into space a moment prior, “And I was not aware he was as present as it seems he was. But, looking back on it now, I can understand it.”

“Ah,” Dolly clicks her tongue before she brings up an old, buried hatchet, “The vampire bond, huh?”

“I was severing one,” Eddie explains, “and knitting another.”

While the audio recording software documents this entire conversation on this computer, Dolly pulls up that news article pertaining to the fire that took down the coven’s theater once more. Why not ask Eddie and Amir about this, too?

“So,” Better now than never, eh? “Were you two the only ones who survived the fire at the theater?”

A silence. A deadly silence as smiles fall and eyes dissect Dolly’s anatomy, down to her skin and bones.

Uh-oh.

“You weren’t provided any information about the fire in our archives.” Amir coldly says before Dolly’s launched into another flashback.

Cold floor against her cheek. Dress shoes clicking against the floor before they walk in front of her. A TV reporter speaks indistinctly… from an old TV, perhaps?

“That’s enterprising.” Amir’s voice is right in a younger Dolly’s ear, speaking in disjointed phrases that aren’t where they should be. “Is that what makes you fascinating?”

Again, suddenly, she’s face-to-face with Amir. A shining bright light from open curtains casts the vampire in front of her in a heavenly glow as he speaks in a low tone.

“In high school, you told a boy you’d only do him if he had a paper–”

Dolly blinks rapidly, trying to wipe the memory that continually forces its way into her brain.

What the fuck? Why do these memories keep coming up? Why are they so…?

“Uh, sorry.” She curtly says as Eddie looks at her with a bit of concern.

“The fire?”

“Yeah, umm…” Dolly’s gotta pull something out of her ass, rather quickly, “One of my researchers found it in the Beinecke Library in New Haven. She thinks we’re working on a book about the post-war reconstruction of Paris.”

To be safe, she closes the newspaper article that’s pulled up on her laptop screen. The last thing she needs, while her mind is running amuck with mismatched memories, is for Eddie and Amir to find out where she got that information from.

…And Dolly may fear what that means for you if they find out. What the fuck does any of this have to do with you? What the hell has Dolly gotten herself into, in the name of trying to help Eddie find his wife and maybe, just maybe, get one last bestseller out before she dies?

Dolly needs to pivot. Now. And what better subject to pivot to then the girl that makes them both uncomfortable — Harper?

“Harper,” She’s quick to grab one of Harper’s final journals, thumbing through the pages as she speaks, “In direct violation of the third Great Law, still journalin’. Shall we?”

~

Fuck these vampires.

Well, maybe not all of the vampires. I like most of the coven, when they’re not fuckin’ or makin’ eyes at each other. Drysdale defended me when it mattered, ‘n that counts in my book.

This punishment of Amir’s is what fuckin’ sucks. I have to dispose of the bodies in this abomination of a dress, which somehow remains free of stains despite the dirt and filth that surrounds me. I remember which box is the rat box, and which box is the body box as I pull the lever down, allowing the rats to scurry about as I open the door to one of the empty burial vaults.

Since I live with the coven now, it ain’t safe for me to keep my current journals out in the open. My earlier works are safe ‘n sound with Eddie, where no pryin’ eyes can get to them. Maybe I’ll come ‘n get them some day, so I know my words will be safe from the likes of men like Volt, Amir, ‘n Eddie. No one will see them but me.

I hid a pen in my dress, ‘n I quickly dug it out so I could write somethin’ about my current conditions, but someone’s voice caused me to jump ‘n slam my journal shut.

“What are you writing, Baby Lu?” It’s Drysdale, thankfully, but I still hide my work behind my back in case he’s thinkin’ about doin’ somethin’ with it.

Yet again, I’ve never seen him in this shitty basement that’s below the backrooms. Sewers ‘n rats don’t seem to fit this man’s looks.

“Why are you lurkin’?” Annoyed, I roll my eyes as his feet fall down the stairs, ‘n then he joins me in this literal hellhole.

“Honoring the blood,” He then looks to the body box, “Pepa Matekja moved me. I wanted to hear his heartbeat one last time.”

“Well,” I gesture to the body box with my book, acceptin’ that I’m already caught, “here it comes.”

The rats go into a feedin’ frenzy, eliminatin’ the last of this man as they scurry about in their metal container. I feel a sort of kinship with ‘em. I know how it feels to be trapped ‘n forced to do things against your will. It’s not fun. Not at all.

“No vampire must commit to writing the history of vampires.” Drysdale cautiously reminded me as he looked to the book in my hand, ‘n I thought that was ridiculous.

This shit isn’t the history of the vampires. It’s my personal thoughts about whatever bullshit is pollutin’ my life at the moment, ‘n I seem to find a lot of it… or maybe it finds me? Doesn’t matter anymore. It is what it is.

“Law three. It’s not the history. It’s just… random thoughts.” I slowly explained. “It’s a habit.”

One I got from my mother, ‘n that secret will be buried with me. As far as they know, she’s just a fantasy writer. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less. I intend to keep it that way.

“Read me some.”

…What? Drysdale wants to hear… my thoughts? My borin, uninterestin’ thoughts?

Fine. It can’t hurt at this point. Drysdale will report me to Amir whether I agree or not, so I might as well do it. Can't hurt nothin’ at this point, right?

I crack open my journal, flippin’ to one of my most recent entries before I read from the page.

“‘Memoria ‘n Connie hate me. I hear their petty insults in the middle of our scenes.’”

“Do you know what we call Lady Memoria behind her back?” Drysdale places his hands upon the rat box, lookin’ down at me after he adjusts his pajama robe, “The Marie Celeste, because her talent disappeared without trace years ago. And Connie is so far up Memoria’s arse that she doesn’t need a coffin to sleep in anymore.”

Drysdale then folds his arms over his chest before he grins at me.

“I do hope there’s something juicy in there.”

Juicy? Was that not juicy enough?

Well, there’s no harm in him readin’ my words — there’s nothin’ about our past lives in here, since I finished up writin’ about that stuff before I was inducted into the coven — so I tossed my journal to him with a small warning.

“There’s a few things about you in there,” I couldn’t help but smile, “Go on, then.”

“Maître has a grave attachment to the laws. Now, you may feel protected by his equally tender attachment to your Eddie, alongside his careful, loving meddling in the life of your Canary,” He catches the book with ease before he sets it upon the rat box, “But tender… can turn to tinder.”

I know this. I don’t need Eddie’s help, or any favoritism from Amir because he’s with Eddie. I came to the coven of my own free will. I’m the one who was used and abused for months, and I agreed to those vampires laws. This has nothin’ to do with Eddie.

“I took an oath. I don’t need it.” I confidently said as Drysdale walks towards one of the burial plots on the wall behind me.

“Francis Naughton was transformed without the permission of the vampire Amir, in absentminded violation of law one,” His sharp fingers nails tap a vault above his head, “and here lies his daddy vamp.”

Yeah, I don’t wanna end up like that.

While lockin’ eyes with Drysdale, I open up the top of the rat box before I throw my journal in there, causin’ him to tut at me.

“Don’t be melodramatic. I have bent law four with at least half of the working girls at La Chabanais, but I am rigorous.” Drysdale steps towards me, opening up the rat box again before he fishes out my journal from the mouths of those rats. “Had I been Memoria or Connie, lurking in the shadows…”

He then presents me with the book as I stare at him.

“And thank you for the kind words you wrote about me.”

“How do you know what I wrote?” I snatched the book from him before I looked him in the eyes.

“I read it, just right now, in front of you.”

There’s no fuckin’ way. Yet, I’m tempted to believe Drysdale when he gasps in mock surprise. This vampire is somethin’, alright.

~

“Non, merci.”

Since the stage wasn’t workin’ out for me still, Amir had me workin’ the streets with this awkward, double-sided sign hangin’ off my shoulders as I tried to hand fliers to drunk French folks who wanted nothin’ to do with me.

I wasn’t surprised when yet another pair of mortals, a man and a woman, refused me before they burst into giggles.

Yeah, ‘m still in this fuckin’ dress, with these braids in my hair and these tight shoes that barely fit my feet.

I continued to walk down the dark alleyway, brushin’ off their rejection with a chin held high before another man approached me, hollerin’ at me with his voice that he purposefully deepened.

“Hey, Baby Lu!”

No. Absolutely not.

Still, I hand him a flyer when he sings my song back at me — why can’t Amir get one of these fanatics to sing ‘n dance ‘n act on stage instead of me, huh? Why can’t that happen? — and that causes him to move along as I slowly walk forward before I stop movin’.

Y’know what? Fuck this. Fuck him.

…That mortal's blood tasted pretty fuckin’ good, since I was starvin’ off the scraps that the coven fed off of, night after night. It’s been a while since we went on a proper hunt, so that asshole was a real treat to me.

I made sure to wipe the blood from my mouth after I dragged the body into a spare alleyway, ‘n then I continued on my way. I handed out flyers to two women sittin’ outside of a café, a busy man who brushes by me on his bike, ‘n a man who doesn’t bother to give me a second glance as he’s too busy readin’ his book…

Wait. I’ve been down this street before. I saw the streetlights flicker on the night that I got those pretty dresses for me ‘n my mama. The night before I involved myself in this coven bullshit.

Her. I remember her. The dressmaker — or tailor? Or is she both? — with the pretty red hair, almost like mine, ‘n the fierce attitude towards me. What was her name again?

…Oh. I didn’t get it the first time. Fuck.

I pull out one of the least crinkled flyers from my hands before I slowly approach the dressmaker who’s tryin’ to wipe an ugly symbol from the Germany army off of one of her storefront windows.

I don’t know what to say to her, even though ‘m standin’ right behind her. She has her hair tied up in a neat ponytail, lookin’ way more composed than I am. She wears a long-sleeved, grey blouse with a black skirt that’s pooled around her legs, hidin’ her flesh from me.

I wouldn’t think about bitin’ her. She wasn’t kind to me, but I liked her. There was somethin’ real — really real — about the way she talked to me. Like she wasn’t pretendin’ to like me.

“You sold me two dresses.” I open with that line, which draws her attention to me. Success! “In your shop window. Mine was lavender silk, if that helps? …It was very chic.”

“You overpaid.” The tailor plainly says, holdin’ a drippin’ sponge in her hands. “With crumpled-up bills and some earrings with… blood on them? Almost like they were ripped from the lobes.”

Oops. I forgot about those. My bad.

“‘Don’t remember you complainin’.” I place my hands on my hips, since the signs for the Theatre Des Vampires, plastered with my fuckin’ face, are only on my front ‘n back, leavin’ my sides wide open.

“You have a body that's about to bloom and the mind of a sophisticate.” The red-haired dressmaker noted. “You didn’t smile.”

Yeah, ‘m aware of the state of my mind ‘n body. Painfully so.

“Funny, ‘cause you made no impression on me at all.” I lied.

The woman then grinned at me, causin’ my heart to race like it never had before, as she dropped her sponge into the bucket of water next to her folded legs.

“I liked you,” She said, like it didn’t make my face flush, “Have you moved on from your pickpocketing ways? You’re clowning now?”

I certainly feel like a clown in this outfit.

“‘M an actress now.” I try to stand proudly, but how can I be proud when this outfit makes me look like a baby?

“Ah! Okay, Theatre Des Vampires?” She vaguely gestured to the name on my sign, ‘n I nodded. “I have seen this show. A divertissement."

Huh. She’s still got that spark after all of this time?

It’s rude to dig into her mind, but I can’t help myself. I have to know her name.

…Lucinda, huh? I wonder if that name on the front door — Lavish — is her last name.

Lucinda Lavish. It rolls off my tongue quite nicely, right?

“‘Still dressin’ your windows for your German tourists?” I pointed to that symbol, painted in red, as she shrugged her shoulders ‘n smiled at me.

“I bet your French is still ugly, like your doll outfit.”

God, she’s pretty.

“You’re right,” I conceded before I added one last thing to our conversation, “I just wouldn’t say it ‘cause it’s rude ‘n obvious.”

I threw that flyer that I especially picked out for her in her bucket of water before I waltzed off, ‘n I felt her eyes watch me ‘til I rounded the corner ‘n disappeared from her sight.

“Merci!”

Lucinda thanked me. I’d think about that for a long time.

~

It’s noisy in this restaurant. Far too noisy for Eddie’s tastes, but he doesn’t really seem to mind all of the buzz in this fancy establishment when you’re seated this close to him. God, how long has it been since Eddie’s been able to hold you without Amir breathing down his neck?

The man in question sits in the middle of the long table, somewhat happily positioned between Curt and Artt, who chat over his shoulders like he’s not even there. At one end of the table, Drysdale sits with Lady Memoria, ignoring a pouting Bathsheba who whines and hisses when Connie tries to offer her a comforting hand on her shoulder. Rod sits across from Curt, happily debating Daisuke and Chance about something to do with the stage and the lightning. Near your somewhat happy family, who are sitting at the opposite end of the table to Drysdale and Memoria, Chairemi and Miranda write their scripts and scores furiously, as if the chaos of the coven isn’t happening around them.

It’s business as usual for the coven, but not for the three of you. Eddie thinks it’s been at least a year since the three of you were together in one spot and talking to each other, and he didn’t realize how much he missed seeing you and Harper together, occupying the same space, until he watches you animatedly talk to your daughter.

“So this couple, the Perriers, they got this salon thing they call the R-26.” You speak with a passion that Eddie adores as Harper leans in, completely enthralled by your words. “They’re artist types, some showin’ work, some just to be there. Painters, poets…”

“Photographers?” Harper glances at Eddie before you turn around and place a comforting hand on Eddie’s chest.

He thinks he might melt into a puddle of affectionate goop from the gesture. How long has he yearned for these casual touches? Sure, you placed your hand on his arm when he took you on your weekly nightly walks, and you politely kissed his cheek or forehead as a hello or goodbye, but this was different. This is natural affection towards a man you adore, who adores you right back.

“Yeah, there were some. I wanted to show some of Eddie’s work, so he could get some love back.” The pout on your face practically forces Eddie to kiss your cheek repeatedly, until you giggle and that pout transforms into that sweet, beautiful smile of yours.

Eddie catches Amir’s eyes from across the table, and he grins in approval before Eddie hears a whisper from across the table.

“I don’t know what he sees in him. He’s not that attractive.”

Drysdale. The man who has been, according to Harper, either making eyes at you or glaring at you when you’re looking away from him. You never looked back — either because you hadn’t noticed yet, or, more likely, you really aren’t interested in pursuing men anymore — but Eddie still scowls a bit when Memoria chimes in next.

“And that waterfall of pretension that comes from his wife, bursting forth from her mouthal cavity.”

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms fully around you before he buries his head into the crook of your shoulder. You don’t stop talking about your novel for a moment, as Harper is fully engaged with you; however, you do acknowledge Eddie by placing a gentle hand on top of his head. Your fingers tangle into his hair, like they’re supposed to, and he hums in contentment as he tries to distract you — and himself — from whatever’s going on at the opposite end of that table.

Unfortunately, you’re the only one who’s successfully distracted as Eddie catches the next part of Drysdale and Memoria’s conversation.

“Read my mind and grab my nethers.”

“Already doing it.”

God, these vampires are fucking weird. Eddie, for a long time, thought the three of you were… unique, to put it lightly, with your own challenges, traumas, and difficulties. Then, he met these vampires, who quickly changed his mind.

…Funny how Amir is the normal one, out of all of them.

“Chairemi was late with the bed bellows.” Curt suddenly speaks across the table, but you and Harper pay him no mind as Chairemi snaps her head up, attention successfully pulled from her work.

“Head’s in a hat,” She smacks the papers in front of her with her pen in a constant, steady rhythm that draws Miranda’s eyes towards her, “I’m working on a new play. ‘Won’t happen again, Maître.”

“It happened four times!” Curt points out, quite loudly, before Chairemi grovels for Amir’s approval.

“It won’t happen again, Maître. I swear on it.”

“Bathsheba?” Amir calls her name as she’s transfixed on the sight of Memoria and Drysdale snuggled up together.

“Catanoic since Drysdale has taken up with Memoria again.” Artt casually answers Amir before he stares at Rod from across the table, noticing that he’s a little less talkative than usual, “what’s wrong with Rod?”

“He’s hung over from last night!” Connie butts in, excited to include herself in one conversation at this table. “Rod split from the pack and over-served himself in the Latin Quarter. He ran down the street screaming, ‘I am a vampire! I am a vampire!’”

“The wheels seem to be coming off this week, Maître.” Artt observes, and Eddie retains his opinion about these vampires — Merde, they might be stranger than strange, in his book — as he hones back in on your conversation with Harper.

“It’s not just Paris givin’ birth to more genius.” You explain. “She’s givin’ birth to…”

“To modernity itself?” Harper sounds rather optimistic — a new look that Eddie isn’t used to, alongside that baby blue dress that is certainly a… fashion statement, to say the least — as she picks up where you left off.

“Yes!” You run your fingers through Eddie’s hair in a repeated, comforting motion that would lull him to sleep if he didn’t feel the need to be on-guard with these vampires that surround the three of you. “Sculptors ‘n authors, ‘n photographers, ‘n saxophone players. Interminglin’, innovatin’. Collapsin’ two art forms into one–”

Eddie wants to listen to you ramble until the end of time itself, for his selfish need to hear your pretty voice in his ears, but he picks up on a certain someone mimicking your accent and voice from across the table.

“–Comin’ up with new ones. Meanwhile,” Drysdale’s impression of you draws the attention of the other coven members, who grin wickedly or stare in amazement at the man as he continues to repeat your every word, right in time with you, “everyone’s fawnin’ over Picasso, but out there on the Left Bank, in shabby hotel rooms ‘n cold water walk-ups, a new generation’s… rippin’ apart the old modes. Burstin’ into new ones.”

You notice, catching Drysdale’s eye from across the room. That beautiful, graceful, kind smile that Eddie wants to paint on your features forever is wiped off of your face. The confidence you wore with elegance and beauty is now reduced to rubble and ash as your shoulders slump. Your hand wraps around your waist as a means to comfort yourself, and Eddie’s quick to place his hand over yours. He’s with you, all of the way.

“‘Suppose I can come off haughty.” You force out a bit of fake laughter, alongside a tiny smile that doesn’t feel at home on your face.

Eddie hates this. He doesn’t want you to pretend to be something you’re not. He loves his Canary, the one that babbles about books for hours on end without asking his opinion once. The girl who climbs into his lap and smothers his face in kisses just because she wants to.

“Everyone’s fawnin’ over Picasso, but not me, not Ms. Canary Watts,” Drysdale does a perfect impression of your voice, down to the cadence, accent, and pitch, “I’m out on the streets, in the barricades with the avant-garde.”

“Funny.” You murmur, looking away in shame as anger starts to boil inside of Eddie’s chest.

The coven can fuck with him all they like. They can toss whatever bullshit they want his way, but he will not allow you to become a victim to their abuse. Not when he’s around to protect you.

“See, now that I’ve wriggled inside of your voice, pulled it on like a costume,” Drysdale seems to take pleasure in making you shrink further and further into yourself with every word that comes out of your mouth, “you don’t sound all that Chicago to me.”

“Outside Chicago,” Harper adds, her voice dimming Eddie’s internal rage for the briefest of moments, “We roamed all around.”

Amir sternly looks at Eddie, and Eddie knows he’s thinking about the secret — their secret — that he has to keep safe, in order to keep the three of you safe.

God, how did the three of you end up in such a predicament?

“It’s the emphasis on that second syllable,” Drysdale purrs, “borrowed from the French.”

“So it’s mimicry you’re good at.” You can hold your own when someone comes after you, and Eddie squeezes your hand in support of you. He’s got you. He won’t dive in and be the defensive husband unless he needs to be. “Like a parrot?”

Eddie chuckles under his breath at that one. Never change, sweetheart.

The rest of the table is dead silent as you and Drysdale go back and forth with each other.

“Like a gent with upright downstairs–”

“–Or, Drysdale, are you like an organ monkey–?”

“–Cajun drawl. I want to test a theory. Say… New Orleans?”

“Don’t fuck with me.” You hiss, yet the pain in your eyes is extremely evident to Eddie.

He sees tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes, and that’s when he decides that enough is enough. Disrespect pointed towards him? That’s all fine and dandy.

You, however? You’re off-limits. Your gentle, loving heart has been through enough heartbreak and struggle. He won’t let someone else take away the inner peace that you’ve managed to create over the past couple of years. Even if that peace exists without him.

Drysdale snarls at you, and you flinch, despite your distance from him. Eddie takes advantage of the distraction, and he uses his inhumane speed to race over to Drysdale before he grabs Drysdale’s tongue between two of his fingers and pulls it out of his mouth in the most painful way imaginable. Not enough to separate the organ from its home, but enough to get the message across.

Eddie places his free hand on Drysdale’s throat, to compromise his wind pipes, as the man under siege feebly claws at Eddie’s dress pants.

“Anythin’ else you wanna say about my wife while I’ve got your attention?” Eddie growls. “I couldn’t hear you from the other side of the table, but you’ve got my attention now.”

“Enough.” Amir warns in a low, deep voice. Normally, Eddie would be rational enough to listen to him.

Ration flew out the fucking window when Drysdale decided to make fun of Eddie’s sweetheart, the wife he loves to death and whatever lies beyond the grave, his Canary. He’s done a lot of shitty things, some directed towards you, but he won’t let this blatant disrespect slide.

“Spit it out.” Eddie taunts. “I got all night.”

“Enough!” Amir yells at the top of his lungs before he slams his hand down on the table, forcing every vampire’s head down except yours, his, Eddie’s, and Drysdale’s.

He also freezes time for all of the mortals that happen to co-exist in the same space as your unholy party, so they’re not privy to this conversation.

“Come on! What is it?!” Eddie scoffs when Drysdale still refuses to answer him. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

“I said enough.” Amir sneers before Eddie lets go of Drysdale’s tongue and throat, but not without one last mocking comment.

“Aren’t you a good boy?”

Drysdale digs his claws into the table, eager to stand up and start a brawl in the middle of the restaurant until Amir gives him a deadly look.

“If you two want to act like fledglings, do it in the darkness.” Amir commands before he waves his hand over the table, releasing the humans and vampires alike from his control.

The chatter from the mortals surrounding the vampire company lightens up the room as Eddie calmly walks back towards you. You’re shivering, terrified out of your mind from what you’ve just seen, so Eddie peels his jacket off before he places it upon your shoulders.

“Mon ange,” His hands rub your shoulders, slowly working to release the pressure and tension that’s built up in your body from the last few minutes, “you wanna–?”

“–please, my love.” You sniffle as Eddie helps you out of your chair with a gentlemanly hand, and his heart bursts with affection and desire for you when you tackle him into a hug. “I wanna go home with you. Please don’t make me go back with the coven.”

“You can stay with me, sweetheart,” His hands go to your back as he gently sways you in his arms, and Eddie can’t help but smirk when he sees Drysdale sticking out his tongue, still recoiling from Eddie’s assault upon him. “Stay as long as you’d like. My home is your home. Our home.”

Eddie quickly escorts you out of the establishment, a guiding hand on the small of your back as you both ignore the looks you earn from the coven. You wave at Harper, and you open your mouth to speak to her, but she shakes her head at you, dismissing you without having to exchange pleasantries.

Eddie, come back!

No. He’s taking care of you right now, and that comes first.

You breathe easier the moment you escape that hellish place, as if your soul was returned to your body the moment you took in a breath of clean, fresh nighttime air.

“I love you, Eddie,” You murmur after you two stand together, coated in an awkward silence that feels atypical for your usual dynamic, “and ‘m sorry if I haven’t been showin’ up for you in the ways I should’ve–”

“–no, sweetheart, it’s my fault. I should’ve made more of an effort to see you–”

“–’m not tryin’ to hide from you.”

That admission releases a lot of weight off of Eddie’s shoulders. At least you’re not mad at him and trying to hide in another’s arms in order to make yourself feel better.

“Eddison,” You turn to your husband, eyes softening when he fixes your hair to be exactly like it was before a small breeze messed with it, “what the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?”

“I don’t know.” He admits. “The coven scares me.”

“They scare me too.”

Your agreement comes as a surprise to Eddie, and he’s tempted to push for more information, but he doesn’t want to push you away in the process.

“Harper’s a grown woman, she can handle herself, but…” You sigh deeply. “This is different. We’re havin’ to put on three different masks in order to get through the day, ‘n ‘m tired of it. I can tell that she’s gettin’ tired of it too.”

“So you wanna leave?” Eddie asks.

“Maybe,” A beat of silence, then you question him, “do you?”

No is the immediate answer that comes to mind. Despite remaining casual, despite denying being companions, despite everything… Eddie can’t let go of Amir. It’s real, and it’s different to what he had with Volt. Eddie has a chance to do this right, for once, and he doesn’t want to squander it.

“Maybe.” He repeats your answer back to you, causing you to lightly chuckle.

“‘Should’ve expected that,” You yawn before you cover your mouth, hiding the fangs that suddenly expose themselves, “I barely ate, ‘n my body’s tellin’ me that we’ve only got a little time before–”

“–I’ll get you somethin’ to eat, Canary.” Eddie’s hand drifts down to your stomach. “How are you feelin’? ‘Haven’t had much of a chance to talk one-on-one since you…”

Joined the coven?

“Better than usual,” Your lips curl up into a smile, “I don’t know if it’s the woman or the novel or both, but my aches ‘n pains are less common, ‘n my hunger isn’t as extreme as it usually is.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the same, but I don’t feel like ‘m dyin’, y’know?” You clarify. “I don’t have those spells where I forget where ‘m goin’ or what ‘m doin’.”

“‘M happy for you, pretty girl. You deserve that much, after all the shit you’ve been through.” Eddie presses a kiss to your forehead before he notices a small frown on your lips. “...Did I miss somethin’?”

“You didn’t kiss me,” You pause before you elaborate further, “on the lips.”

“Makin’ demands, are we?” Eddie gently teases you before he takes your comment seriously. He will not be passing up the chance to kiss you on the lips, since such an opportunity seems to rarely present itself these days. “Is that what you want? ‘Cause you know I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Please, Eddie?” Your bottom lip juts out in an adorable manner that ties Eddie’s stomach in knots — you’ve placed a curse on him to make him yours with just a look or a touch, he swears by it — before he kisses you on the lips, as requested.

Your giggles are completely swallowed by him as his hands find their usual spot on their hips, and he bites back a groan when the simple action of him burying his fingers into the fabric of your skirt, slowly circling the skin of your hips, causes you to softly moan.

“You are maddenin’, y’know that?” He chuckles after he steals another kiss from you — call Eddie greedy, he doesn’t give a fuck at this point. “I love you, Canary. I love you so goddamn much that it hurts sometimes. When we get home, to our home, ‘m gonna show you how much I love you, over ‘n over again ‘til you fall asleep, okay?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Breathlessly, you allow Eddie to lead you towards the apartment you once shared together. “Are you gonna take more pictures of me?”

“...Obviously, sweetheart. You’re gonna look good when you’re covered in my marks.”

~

“Early work, huh?” Dolly sorts through another shoebox that’s full of Eddie’s black-and-white photos from Paris. “I can’t read anythin’ I wrote before Micheal Jackson’s hair caught on fire… but some of these aren’t bad, Eddie.”

Eddie, in response, shakes his head.

“They document, nothing more.”

“I mean, this one, with the fountain and the couple,” Dolly shows Eddie and Amir the photograph that she’s been staring at for a while, “and the water’s glowin’. I think I’ve seen it somewhere, like in a book or somethin’, right?”

Eddie places his hands on his knees before he stands, calmly walking towards the reporter.

“There’s a good reason you picked that one,” He sighs as he takes a closer look at the photo, “It’s not mine.”

Eddie then takes the photo from Dolly’s hands before he begins to sort through the rest of the photos, plucking out the ones that Dolly assumes, based on his poor handling of them, do not belong to him.

Amir glances at Dolly, side-eyeing her as she keeps her gaze focused on Eddie.

Orange eyes. Bright sun. Cramping legs. The bravado of a young, scared journalist.

…Dolly’s setting a reminder on her phone to up the dosage of her Parkinson’s medication when she gets home. She cannot be dealing with this for the rest of her life.

“Some of these are from the mid-thirties,” Eddie muses as he sorts through the photos he hand-picked, “we were still in New Orleans at the time.”

Dress shoes clicking on the apartment floor. Some news reporter talking about San Francisco, when Dolly was young and dumb and admired those people on the TV station. Plastic wrapped around… Jesus Christ, is that a fucking body?

What is happening to Dolly’s mind? Fragmentation or reunification of old memories? Both, maybe?

“What is this?” Eddie turns to Amir, handing him one of the photos as a bit of frustration begins to appear on Eddie’s face.

“Azizam, that one belongs to Eric Stein–”

“–why is it in there? Why are all these in there?”

A break in the sturdy foundation between Eddie and Amir. Growing resentment, perhaps?

“Don’t ask me.” Amir shoots back before Eddie folds his arms over his chest, sternly staring at his partner — his companion — for the last seventy-five or so years.

And how’s that turning out for you right now, huh?

“We’ve been staring at these for half of a century–”

“–I didn’t put those there, Eddie,” Amir tries to calm Eddie down with a soothing voice that feels more fitting for a toddler than a grown-ass vampire, “Canary did purchase some photographs during her time in Paris, and she might have sorted those in with your own compositions when we were in such a hurry to leave the country after she–”

“–don’t you dare bring Canary into this.” Eddie hisses, tossing the remaining photographs onto the table haphazardly before he collapses into his seat.

Noticeably, he’s facing away from Amir this time, solely locked into Dolly as she tries her best to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Assad might’ve confused them.” Amir offers a simple explanation that Dolly doesn’t listen to as her mind snaps back into yet another flashback.

“In high school, you told a guy you’d only do him if he had a paper bag over his head. He agreed, and you did–”

That body from earlier? It falls to the ground, right beside Dolly. She can look into its cold, dead, meaningless eyes as she waits for–

“–This is embarrassing. I don’t want you thinking that I was trying to pass them off as mine.” Eddie explains, and Dolly can only weakly nod along as she tries to pull herself together.

What the fuck? How far did they dig into my mind? What dam did they break loose in there?

“Yeah.” She feebly answers, pinching the bridge of her nose to help relieve the headache that’s starting to grow in-between her nostrils.

No shit. You see a dead body in a memory of your past, and it stresses you out… obviously.

“I was an amateur photographer. Make sure your readers know that.”

What did he just say?

“Sure, umm…” She’ll note down Eddie’s… whatever the fuck he just mentioned later, when she’s had the time to review this recording. “Can I get some aspirin? ‘Got a migraine that’s startin’ to build.”

Jesus Christ, Dolly, get your shit together! You don’t have those recordings anymore. All you have is your memories, and those are shit.

~

I saw Lucinda in the audience tonight. She was wearin’ a red blouse ‘n a skirt that matched her top — well, obviously they do, ‘cause she’s a dressmaker, dumbass. She’s gotta have some good fashion sense so she can sell her clothes to somebody, after all.

She didn’t look real impressed with my performance. I mean, I gave it some effort, but it certainly wasn’t my best work. I hope she stays later, so I can talk with her.

My wish came true when I was outside the theater, signin’ those programs that Chairemi hands out at the front of the house every night when I saw Lucinda from across the street. I hurriedly moved through everyone else in the line before I rushed over to her, eager to see and hear from her yet again.

“I know,” I lamented to her as she smoked her cigarette, “my French is terrible.”

Tonight’s performance was in French, and it was… uh, not good, to say the least. I’ve been tryin’ to learn the language, but ‘m not able to speak it as well as Eddie ‘n Canary can.

“It’s better than the plays.” Lucinda commented, which made me smile after a long while of not smilin’. “When you went out the window and you cracked your neck… yeah, that was good.”

“Then the song came back on.” I groaned, ‘n she simply nodded in agreement.

“Oh, oui. They should kill whoever wrote it.”

Her smile didn’t show any teeth, but it was still pretty to me.

I think everything about Lucinda is pretty.

Before I could speak to her again, Bathsheba called out to me after she opened the door to the theater.

“Harper! You’re needed in the wet room!”

One fuckin’ hour. Is that too much to ask for?

“I’ll be there in a minute!” I hollered back before Lucinda dropped her cigarette onto the ground before she extinguished it with her red heel.

“Merci, Lulu.” She said her goodbyes to me, which made me sad. “For whatever that was.”

She turned ‘n walked away from me, but I couldn’t let her go that easily.

“Hey!” I yelled, ‘n I felt myself grow a little sick when her eyes locked with mine. “You want a ride home?”

I’ve seen the coven use those bikes a thousand times over, ‘n Artt’s let me drive his once or twice. I can handle drivin’ Lucinda home all on my own.

~

Eddie moves Harper’s journals aside in a haphazard manner before he hangs a few new pictures of Paris, of mortals that he’s drained, of you in the space above her bed.

“You really think they’re good enough for a gallery?” Eddie appears to be talking to himself until he turns to face Volt, who’s dressed in a maroon-colored suit that perfectly contrasts his white curls.

He’s not real, I shouldn’t be asking him about anything… but I still am. Nothing’s changed, has it?

“Eddie, perhaps you’re overthinking–?”

“–I can only take ‘em at night,” Eddie moves through the apartment, which looks more like the external display of the manic delusions of a spiraling artist than a home for three. He’s hung various clothes lines this or that way in the room, and each photo is hung with a clothes pin on any and all available space on the line, “when I can’t control the light ‘m gettin’. Am I supposed to stand by a street lamp ‘n wait for the world to pass under it? …’M a vampire.”

Eddie ducks under one of the lines, with Volt following right behind him.

“You’re a vampire,” Volt points out, “a hunter!”

“‘M out there, prowlin’ for the moment,” Eddie rubs his forehead as Volt passes him, taking a seat near your old writing desk, “Do you know how many shots I’ve taken, only to find that the light was insufficient when I put it in the bath?”

“Tell me, mon chéri.” Despite all his fucking faults — and there were a lot of them — Volt always took the time to listen to Eddie complain about this customer at the bar, or that businessman that pissed Eddie off because he talked down to you.

“A whole goddamn lot. Look at this,” Eddie pulls one of the photos down from the clothes line before he hands it to Volt, ignoring the way Volt immediately takes a bite out of the photo before he crumples it up and sticks the entire thing into his mouth, “Most of these photographers spend two or three days with their muses before they take a photo with ‘em. I can’t do that. I’ll end up eatin’ ‘em.”

“Like this gentleman,” Volt says, pointing at various photos on your desk as he finishes chewing the photo in his mouth, “And this one. Oh, and her.”

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge Volt’s antics; instead, he grabs another photo from Harper’s bed before he hangs it in the empty spot in front of him.

“Here. Tell me one thing wrong about this photo.” Eddie turns to Volt, who’s suddenly appeared behind him.

“Well, for one thing, I’m not in it.”

That… does sound like something that Volt would say.

Eddie sighs before he deadpans at his deceased lover.

“Please?” He’s desperate for some sort of critique, and Volt’s yellow eyes threaten to pull Eddie under his control — Merde, the man isn’t even alive and Eddie’s still captivated by him — once the men gaze at each other once more.

“Hmm,” Volt places his hands behind his back as he observes the photo of a beautiful building near the vampiric theatre, with the moon hung in the top-left of the composition, “Your lens is not entirely clean. And you see here, in the corner? It’s blurred. On this very night, you only had eight frames of film on you. A haunting set of clouds moved in minutes after your last shot. If it lacks singularity, there is nothing wrong per se with the frame, but…”

Volt breathes in as Eddie notices all of the various faults that Volt had pointed out.

“Perhaps, going forward, when the moon is your favored source of light… a little patience?”

That was… nicer than Eddie expected. Well, that’s the nicest thing that this version of Volt has ever said to him.

“What light through yonder window breaks?” A clean, crisp voice enters the apartment before Volt starts cackling behind Eddie. “It is there, no? Northwest, and Eddie is the sun?”

“Romeo!” Volt claps his hands together as Eddie goes to the open window doors that lead to the balcony that you had once decorated with flowers. They’re all wilted and dead, without your tender care to nurture them back to health. “Barely Balthasar.”

“The moon, perhaps?” Eddie shuts the doors behind him as Amir speaks to him from the street below Eddie. “I was wondering if you wanted to take one of our walks.”

Eddie watches as Amir holds out a bundle of your favorite flowers — an olive branch to bridge the growing distance between them.

Eddie knows he probably shouldn’t accept, but he does anyway.

~

The motorcycle didn’t work out too well, but Lucinda didn’t mind walkin’ home with me; in fact, she even invited me into her shop! How amazin’ is that?

Before I knew it, she had me standin’ in front of three mirrors with a pretty yellow, floral dress hung over my frame that she carefully pinned together so it fit me perfectly.

“So,” Lucinda grabbed a pin from the pin cushion in my left hand before she reached towards the skirt of my dress, “you spend the day and night in the dress? Is this some acting process?”

“It’s a punishment.” I don’t lie to Lucinda. I don’t feel the need to. I think I can be honest with her, since she’s been honest with me.

“Because you don’t like flapping your arms in their stupid play?” Lucinda laughed that sweet laugh of hers before she shook her head.

I hummed in agreement before she locked eyes with me via the mirror.

“Are you their hostage?”

Not quite, but it certainly feels like it, somedays.

“...More like they’re my family?” I said as I offered her another pin as she worked on my dress.

“T.B. killed my family. All of them, dead,” Lucinda said as she placed pin after pin on one side of the skirt, “Oh, my town was sad for me, ‘Oh, poor orphan!’ But, I mean, not too sad because we had money, and they didn’t know my family.”

“We gonna talk about that?” My head nodded towards that ugly symbol that was still painted on the front of her shop. I saw enough of that… thing when we briefly crossed through Germany.

“A lieutenant from Dusseldorf,” She stopped pinnin’ me to look at the sharp, red lines on the front window of her store, “He was nineteen. He said, ‘I want to know what love is like before I die.’”

I knew someone like that — Dirkie — a long time ago. It didn’t end too well.

“Sounds like a line.” I forced a smile onto my face, to mask my pain as I pushed that memory to the back of my mind, ‘n Lucinda laughed at what I said before she got off of her knees ‘n worked to adjust the dress on my shoulders.

Her hands, with the softest of caresses, set my body on fire. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel like ‘m dyin’, bein’ so close to her.

“I thought so too, but then he shook so much when I took my shirt off,” Lucinda confessed before she plucked another pin from the cushion in my hand, “He gave me food and cigarettes, but it was the comfort for me. He was alive. I know it sounds like a joke, but when there’s death all around–”

“–I saw the war, too.” I butted in as she pinched the fabric on my shoulders with two of her fingers before she pinned it together.

“Huh,” She gave me a strange look, shakin’ her head once more before she picked up her story again, “And the lovemaking… You know, it was so boyish. Up and down, and up and down. He even had his eyes closed. I said, ‘You’re making love to me, and you think it’s wrong to look at me?’”

Her smile fell as she smoothed out a wrinkle in the sleeve of the dress.

“I wasn’t inviting Hitler to stay in France,” She quietly said, “I was inviting a frightened boy to cradle my tits.”

Satisfied with her work, Lucinda walked over to her desk before she dramatically opened a bottle of wine.

“And now I’m a traitor. A slut.” She murmurs before she pours herself, then me, a glass of wine.

Finally, someone besides my mother treats me like an adult. Only took, what, fifteen years and a trip ‘round the world to find someone like that? …Go fuckin’ figure.

~

Eddie has a list of places that he expects Amir to take him. The Louvre Museum that he walks through, with Amir at his side, is not one of them.

God, you’d love to see the towering paintings and beautiful, handcrafted sculptures that Eddie passes by, but you’re not here with him. You can’t be, for your own wellbeing.

With panting breaths, you pulled your chest away from Eddie’s, not daring to touch your intertwined legs or hands.

“Honey,” You pressed a kiss to his forehead before your hands ran up his bare forearms, then down his naked chest, “I can’t stay in the coven anymore. It’s not good for me.”

“Why, sweetheart?”

“I can’t really explain it. I just… don’t fit in there. I don’t fit in anywhere.” You softly admitted, which caused Eddie to scoff under his breath. You belonged with him. You always had a place in his heart, his home, his bed. Everything that was his was also yours. “I only feel like myself when ‘m with you ‘n River. That’s it.”

“You plannin’ on ditchin’ the coven?” He murmured. “Amir won’t take that lightly.”

“‘M a big girl, Eddie. I can handle him.” Your open-mouthed kisses, placed right upon his neck, sent shivers down his spine. Of course you could handle yourself, but Amir was a completely different story. As far as Eddie was concerned, no one can — or should — try to defy him. It’ll only end badly for you if you’re reckless about this.

“You have to find somewhere to hide, a place where they won’t find you–”

“–I’ll stay with River. I… may have jumped the gun a little ‘n asked her if I could stay with her a while ago,” Your face flushed as you revealed this to Eddie, “She agreed ‘n said she’d be happy to have me.”

“What about us?” Eddie asked as his hands gripped the flesh on your thighs.

“I’ll come ‘n visit you, whenever I think it’s safe to,” Your eyes softened as you noticed the small frown that appeared on his face, “Mon amour, I can’t tell you where ‘m goin’.”

“You don’t trust me.” He flatly said.

“I do, it’s just…” You shook your head. “I have to be smart about this. I can’t be exposin’ myself so I can see you every night. That won’t end well.”

“So that’s it, huh?” Eddie’s stomach twisted into knots at the thought of only seeing you once a month, or perhaps less often, due to your circumstances. “You’re leavin’ me again?”

“Don’t be like that.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you reached for the nightgown that Eddie laid out for you, every night, in case you came back to him. “You sound like him when you try to convince me to stay.”

You compared him to Volt? …Ouch. Add insult to injury.

“I miss you, Canary. I’ve missed you since you joined the coven, ‘n I finally get to have you like I wanted you, after a year of barely gettin’ to hold you, ‘n now you’re gonna take off after we fucked,” Eddie sighed as he placed his hands behind him, “I feel like ‘m bein’ used.”

“No, no, Eddie, that’s not it,” You placed a hand on his cheek before your orange eyes met his yellow ones, “I didn’t mean to come off that way. I was plannin’ on leavin’ before tonight happened, I just–”

“–was goin’ to leave without sayin’ goodbye to your husband?” Eddie raised an eyebrow at you as you finished getting dressed.

“You’re bein’ unfair. This isn’t about you,” You huffed, “or us. ‘M tryin’ to protect you ‘n Harper by disappearin’. That way, neither of you will be questioned about where I am or what ‘m doin’.”

“You think I’d tell the coven where you’re hidin’?” He breathlessly questioned you as you stood up, softly whining when his dick left your hole. “Merde, sweetheart, do you think I’d tell Amir?”

“I didn’t say that–”

“–you didn’t have to,” Eddie snatched his shirt from the lampshade on the nightstand near your shared bed as you turned towards the windows that faced the streets of Paris, “You thought it.”

“Get out of my head, Eddie.” You warned in a low voice before he softly chuckled.

“I don’t have to. I’ve shared a bed with you for how many years, Canary? I know what you’re thinkin’.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You don’t trust me after Volt–”

“–Can you fuckin’ blame me?” You hissed at him, causing him to recoil ever-so-slightly. “How many times did you tattle to Volt right after Harper or I whispered in your ear about somethin’ that he didn’t need to know about?”

“That was back in New Orleans,” Eddie argued back, “this is different. Amir is different. ‘M different–”

“–are you, though?” Your question was like a knife through Eddie’s heart. “I know you’re lyin’ to me about somethin’. Not somethin’ small, either. It’s big, ‘n it weighs you down every time you look at me.”

“I haven’t lied–”

“–what happened on that night that you ‘n Amir got into that big fight?” You cut Eddie off, and he was sweating bullets as you glared at him. “‘Cause I asked him about what happened, ‘n he refused to tell me about it. Said it was ‘private business that shouldn’t grace a lady’s ear’. ‘Can’t believe that he thinks that I buy that bullshit.”

“It’s not somethin’ you need to worry about.” Eddie grabbed his pants and underwear as you scoffed.

“I worry anyways, Eddison. You know this.” You pinched the bridge of your nose before you threw your hands into the air in defeat. “I didn’t come here to argue with you. I don’t want to argue with you. I’ll make the arrangements I need to so I can see you ‘n Harper as often as possible. Just… please keep this between the three of us, alright?”

You left before Eddie had the chance to say anything else.

Eddie held your secret close to his chest, not relenting when Amir or the rest of the coven pestered him about your location, or how your things suddenly disappeared from the coffin you had in the coven’s back room the night after you took off.

He wants to prove his loyalty and love for you — what better way to do so then through action and not petty lip service that he’s failed to deliver on before?

A security guard walks up to the pair of vampires, angrily shouting in French before Amir waves his hand at the man. The mortal in question freezes with an arm extended outwards, trying to shine a light on the two men before him, and Amir gladly plucks the flashlight from the man’s grip before he places his grey hat in the mortal’s empty hand.

“Merci.” Amir says to the man, knowing he can’t hear the words, before he illuminates their way.

Eddie feels the need to wave his hand in front of the man’s face, as proof that he is indeed frozen in time, before the light in Amir’s hand darts from painting to painting.

“This is my favorite walk in Paris.” He wanders ahead, not bothering to check if Eddie is behind him. “Boulevards of framed time and space. The oiled dead — still living, still fighting. When you’re the oldest suit in town, it is a comfort to be among your contemporaries.”

Amir turns around, suddenly, shining the light on his own handsome features as he backpedals towards another room while making sure that Eddie’s right behind him.

“Feels familiar.” Eddie comments, trying to show that he’s paying attention while nothing but his own free will forces his feet forward, one step at a time.

“Ah, weary of battles and glorious hunts,” Amir shrugs before he points the light ahead of him, “There is a street of fruit and flowers two doors down.”

Another security guard rushes up to him, but a single ‘Rest’ issued from Amir’s lips causes him to be in a similar predicament to his co-worker, who is right down the hall. Amir then takes the flashlight from the mortal’s hand before he hands it to Eddie, who can’t help but frown a bit.

What is Amir trying to do here, after not showing up at his door for weeks after his little stunt at the restaurant?

“It’s not the art. ‘M talkin’ about this… apology,” Eddie shrugs, “Flex your power one night, ‘n then follow it with grand grovelin’ the next. That’s vintage Volt.”

Eddie suddenly shines his light to the left of the security guard, revealing a ghastly image of Volt to him. Of course he’s here. He’s always there, lingering in the back of Eddie’s mind. It’d be romantic if he wasn’t… himself, or dead… or both.

“I don’t enjoy using my powers like that, Eddie.” Amir brushes past the guard and Volt, but Eddie hesitates, not yet following him.

“Seems like you did.”

“That was for coven discipline, for the situation,” Amir sternly explains, “A situation that is still unfolding, if you insist on keeping the location of your darling Canary a secret.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything. Is it because he doesn’t know where you’re at, so it can’t stumble out of his mouth, or because he’s loyal to you, and he’d never betray you like that?

…He hates that he doesn’t have an immediate answer to that question.

“And, if I may address your behavior that night, you were wound rather tightly after Drysdale’s prodding.” Amir confidently walks forward as Eddie falls in line with him, ignoring how Volt lingers by his side.

“He disrespected my wife.” Eddie flatly says. “I’ve handled men like Drysdale plenty of times before. I don’t need you flyin’ in like vampire papa to protect us.”

“I did it poorly, but I did it for our protection.” Amir gestures for Eddie to climb the stairs before him after he begins to fly to the second floor.

“And, I don’t like seein’ Harper on that stage, bein’ treated like she’s a puppet.” Eddie airs out his grievances as he focuses on Amir’s form as it effortlessly rises through the air, ignoring all human understanding of physics.

“I treated her as a member of my coven.” Amir reminds him as he meets Eddie — and Volt, because who could forget that Volt’s there? — on the top of the stairs.

“I don’t like you paradin’ her around in that baby doll dress, either.” Eddie’s eyebrows knit together as he speaks. “And, if I may address your behavior, everythin’ you’ve done makes you look weak.”

“‘M not Volt, Eddie.” Amir looks wounded, like a child who’s just been scolded for the very first time in their life, as Eddie and Volt speak in perfect harmony and cadence to one another.

“Okay,” Then, Eddie says the next part by himself, “Who are you?”

The corner of Amir’s lip twitches before he turns and flicks his fingers at the large, towering door in front of him. It opens without any physical exertion from him, bathing Amir in a soft, warm light since the room before him, strangely enough, is lit, unlike the rest of the museum.

Inside, Eddie sees a room crowded with paintings on nearly every part of the wall, but Amir stops before one painting in particular. The name of the work, inscribed into the gold frame that surrounds the piece, is The Adoration of the Shepherds with a Donor.

Eddie stands between Volt and Amir, and the three stare at the piece in silence until someone feels the need to express themselves.

“The Adoration of the Shepherds with a Donor. Palma Vecchio. A contemporary of my maker,” Amir explains to Eddie, “also a fine painter, albeit one of lesser skill. In fact, the donor in the title was my maker, the canvas painted in my maker’s studio, and, in this case, the donation was…”

Amir steps towards the painting before he turns to face Eddie with a distant look on his face.

“What is the modern word for it?” Amir pauses before he shakes his head in strong disagreement. “In kind.”

Amir then raises his arm, directing everyone’s attention to the boy on the right side of the painting.

“This is Amadeo. He’s twenty years here. He was rescued from a brothel when he was fifteen, named…” He takes a shaky breath in, then out — an uncharacteristic move for the always confident coven leader that Eddie’s grown quite close to, “named Arun then, I think. I cannot be sure. The abuse in the brothel was such that he cannot be sure that’s what his… parents named him. Arun, the boy that was sent by his parents to work on a merchant boat in Delhi when, in actuality, they had sold him… into slavery to the ship’s captain.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Amir isn’t referring to some boy in a painting. This story, which Eddie is sure is an autobiography at this point, is painful and real.

“It’s all fragments. Being shackled on the boat. The brothel. My maker’s purchase. His renaming of me.” Amir whispers fractured pieces of his life into the air. “His reluctance to share the Dark Gift, knowing what it would do to his beloved Amadeo. I served him with all of my heart. Basked in his mercy, his worshipful mercy. Still… Amadeo had a skill, and if a friend wandered into town, I was, occasionally, donated.”

His fingers ghost the painting as he traces the outline of the boy in the painting in front of him.

“Meatier in the forearms, but then this was… seven years before I was stricken with illness, before I was turned and imbued with my powers.”

“And Amir?” Eddie gently asks.

“The name the coven in Rome gave me,” Amir’s gaze stays trained on the floor, “after they set fire to the studio. Set fire to my maker, then sent me to Paris, to reign over the coven abandoned by Keith. Keith, who begat Volt. Volt, who begat Eddie. On and on and on and on and on–”

“–Ha!” Volt, vibrating with an unusual amount of frustration and fear, yells at Amir who, obviously, cannot hear him.

But Eddie can, and he flinches at the noise before he regains his composure.

“Who am I, Eddie?” Amir’s eyes stare into Eddie’s soul as the former approaches the latter. “Am I my history that I have endured? Am I the job I do not want? I do not know anymore. No one has painted me in over four-hundred years–”

Amir’s head snaps to the side as he listens to someone — one of his dutiful coven members, Eddie assumes — speak to him telepathically. His brows furrow before he angrily curses under his breath.

“If you’ll excuse me.”

Amir’s out of the room before Eddie can question him, leaving Eddie alone with nothing but that painting, his interpretation of Volt, and his stormy, darkening thoughts.

~

“I look good.” I moved the dress a bit as I looked into the mirrors in Lucinda’s shop, admirin’ that yellow dress with the red ‘n blue flowers. “I look French.”

“No, it’s not right at the front, because your chest, it’s…” She trailed off as she pulled at the material in front of my tits.

“I don’t have much.” I frowned as I was forced to remember my forever arrested development because of Volt.

Fuck Volt. Seriously.

“Yes, you don’t have more than you did two years ago.” Lucinda pulled the tape measure from her shoulders, ‘n she wrapped it around my middle as I stuck my arms in the air. “Same shape, same height–”

“–The war.” A dumb explanation, really, but one that would have to suffice. “Shriveled some people, stunted others.”

“Harper,” My name out of her mouth sounded real good, “you have eyes like my windows.”

Uh-oh. This ain’t good. I gotta find some sort of half-truth, some excuse to keep what I am a secret. Not ‘cause I want to deceive her, but I don’t wanna scare her off.

“‘Been through some shit, like anybody else.” Shit feels like I’m simplifyin’ it, but it’s the truth. “Mom died. Dad ran off. Aunt didn’t want me. A fire. Adopted. One of ‘em was bad trouble, another couldn’t make a good decision, even if his life depended on it. Ran away. One dark thing after another.”

I hate the pity in Lucinda’s pretty eyes, but I know it’s warranted. I’ve been through a lot.

“Maybe I seek it out,” I said, “Maybe I chase after it.”

“Why?” She asked before she sat in a loveseat next to the set of mirrors.

“I don’t know.” I mumbled back. “But it’s somethin’ to think about, ‘cause even in-between the dark things… there’s somethin’ broken in me. A collision in me, like I wanna go bang.”

“Well, go bang,” Lucinda suggested before I looked at her with confusion in my eyes, “Go flag it out, or go cold. I mean, that’s fine, then you’ll be fine again. And then bang, and then okay, and then bang, and then… you just get used to it, like weather.”

I really, really like her; however, my attempts to keep the vampiric parts of me in check would soon go out the window when I saw a small trail of blood runnin’ down her leg. I couldn’t help it — my fangs began to poke out of my mouth, but I tried to keep myself in check by closin’ my mouth ‘n coverin’ my face with one of my hands.

“You got blood on your, uh…” My finger pointed at her leg, and her eyes went to that spot before she angrily cursed in French.

“Merde, I bled through!” She quickly stood up before she ran to the back. “Ah, don’t move too much — the pins, remember? God, I’m leaving a trail. I am Gretel!”

Thank God I didn’t bite Lucinda. I don’t wanna bite her, she’s a–

Harper!

Fuck. I met Amir’s eyes through the window, ‘n the anger in them, it reminded me of… nevermind.

I flew out of her dress shop, leavin’ the dress behind since I hadn't paid for it yet, ‘n I wasn’t surprised when Amir dragged me into the street by my arm as soon as I left the shop, despite my whines of pain.

“The show is a hit. The show is our cover.” He began to lecture me, but I’ve had enough of him. Enough of men like him.

“Tell me what it is again.” I rolled my eyes as passersbys glared at an older man who was belittlin’ the girl in his care.

“We humble ourselves–”

“–Tell me again how Chairemi licks the stage clean after every show, ‘n I’ll tell you a job I’d rather do.” I don’t care how angry or disrespectful I sound to Amir — ‘m tellin’ him how I feel, once and for all.

“You’re the only one with a child’s physique.” He argued.

“Audience doesn’t give a shit,” I said as he took me to a more private alleyway, where no eyes could see us interact, “Curt could play the part. They just wanna watch the bouncin’ ball–”

“–fifteen minutes a night to pretend.” He hissed at me, so I hissed right back at him.

“It’s a degradin’ fifteen minutes. I’d like to walk off-stage in the middle of it, but I don’t. I’d like to pounce on the audience members, but I don’t.”

“You left the sacrifice on the green room floor,” Here Amir goes again, exposin’ all my faults. “We honor the blood when we dispose of it.”

“You dispose of it so you won’t get caught. C’mon, now. I missed a chore, ‘n I made a friend,” His mouth opened to object, but I wouldn’t let him get a word in, “And before you tell me to make friends with the coven, I can’t, because they’ve turned inward too long ago and you know it, which is why you ran to Eddie ‘n Canary!”

I shouldn’t have been surprised when Amir grabbed my braids before he put his hand around my throat, pinnin’ me to the wall so I couldn’t speak or say anythin’, but I was. Maybe I thought that the abuse was just verbal. Maybe I’d like to hope that he would be less of a cruel master than Volt or Eddie, but I was wrong. ‘M always wrong. All of these men are the goddamn same, when push comes to shove.

“I’ve let you whine and have your say,” Amir spits out, “Most in my position would treat you no better than you treated your maker.”

…How does he know about Volt, about what Eddie and I–

Goddamnit. I knew I should’ve threw that fucker into the fire, like I did with Antoinette. Canary would’ve screamed ‘n cried, but she would’ve gotten over it. Her lady friend in Paris would have helped her get over him. That motherfucker has fucked us over once again.

“Let us agree that going forward, you will do more than the bare minimum on and off stage,” His hand on my throat tightened, so I could barely breathe, “And the friend you made? You will not see her again. Yes?”

Amir let go of me, ‘n I slid down the wall as he looked down on me.

“There’s rot on the green room floor. See to it.”

Oh, I’ll see to it, alright. Right after I take care of the fuckin’ snitch in my home.

I… I knew I shouldn’t have trusted Eddie.

~

Amir watches Harper storm off, presumably towards Eddie’s apartment and not the theater, but that’s the last thing on his mind as he senses someone else’s presence nearby.

His hand extends once more, and he catches Drysdale’s neck with his fingers before he slams the man into the wall.

“Too old to play Hamlet, too young to play Polonius,” Amir sneers, “Know your role, thesp, or join your maker in oblivion.”

He drops the vampire onto the ground, and Drysdale groans in pain before Amir angrily walks off. It isn’t just Drysdale or Harper he has to worry about. There is a serious discipline problem within the coven that he needs to address… rather quickly, he might add.

~

A small fire spreads across photo after photo as Eddie’s gaze moves down the clothes line. He doesn’t care for Volt’s pitiful looks as the man in question sits at your writing desk, as another sore reminder that the two of you haven’t talked since the night you left his apartment in a hurry after your little… fight?

It didn’t feel like a fight, though. Eddie fought with Volt, threw shit around that godforsaken house, and exchanged words that he doesn’t ever want to repeat again. He refused to do that with you, so he usually backed down when you got angry with him.

This, however, always seemed to infuriate you more. Eddie’s now realizing, as he stares at a photo of your face, that you probably take his silence or redirection during those moments as callous or cold or uncaring when it’s actually the opposite.

He cares so goddamn much, and that’s probably what’s gotten him into this situation. If Eddie was just honest with you about how he was the one to hurt you that night after Harper left — because it truly wasn’t Volt, for once — or how he hurt Harper when the two of them killed Volt, or how Amir knows that he killed Volt.

“You can’t think of it as a waste of time, Eddie.” Volt’s commentary pulls Eddie from his thoughts as he moves to the next clothes line, where he burns every photo except the ones of you and Harper. “What’s two years? I pretended to be an actor for two years. And your dalliance with that manipulative gremlin? Well… what is vampire life but poor decisions, stacked next to better ones?”

Volt brings the cigarette in-between his index and pointer fingers to his lips before the door to Eddie’s apartment slams open.

“Eddie!”

“Speaking of poor decisions…” Volt trails off, shaking his head as Harper stomps into the room with pure malice in her gaze.

“Eddie!” Harper throws her arm out to the side as she locks eyes with Eddie. “Amir knows all about Volt. How long’s he known? Does Canary know?”

“The whole time,” Eddie admits, feeling a bit of relief that at least one of his secrets is out in the open, “‘n your mother doesn’t need to know about this–”

“–What?!?”

“Read our minds on our first night at the theater.”

“But you colored it in for him, painted a pretty picture?” Harper balls her extended hand into a fist, squeezing her fingers together to relieve some of the anger coursing through her body. “Who did the poisonin’, who did the throat cuttin’–”

“–you can trust Amir.”

Harper looks astounded by Eddie’s words.

“What about that ‘You ‘n me’ bullshit that you tried to sell to Canary when we were ridin’ into Paris? You throw that out the window when you told Amir about what we did?” She wears a wicked grin when Eddie’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Do you think I was stupid enough to fall asleep when you were tryin’ to say somethin’ to her? You did some good sweet-talkin’ to my mama, but I know better when it comes to you–”

“–You were unhappy in New Orleans, unhappy in the vampire homeland, unhappy when we first came to Paris.” Eddie points out as Harper folds her arms and wanders around the space, looking at a few of the photos that have been spared from Eddie’s fiery gaze. “‘N here comes the coven, ‘n then you’re beamin’ like the whole world went technicolor.”

“Don’t make this about me when we’re talkin’ about you,” She grumbles, “What the fuck’s gone on without me here? Where’s my mother? I know she left with you that night, ‘n she hasn’t been back to see me since.”

“I didn’t want to wreck that for you and this whole time–” Eddie starts, but Harper’s pissed and past the point of listening to him talk without adding in some objections of her own.

“–chasin’ it! Chasin’! You gotta be chasin’ it–!”

“–he hasn’t betrayed our trust or told our secret.” Still, Eddie tries to make her see the world through his eyes.

“Except, he just threatened me with it!”

Her scream ends their back-and-forth, and the room is plunged into an uncomfortable, sticky, permeating silence that traps Eddie and Harper in that space.

And then Eddie opens his mouth.

“Doesn’t sound like him.”

“Doesn’t sound like him?!?” Harper pulls back, reeling from what Eddie’s just said. “Oh, I forgot! Love makes you stupid! ‘Makes you fickle ‘n weak ‘n blind. Let me guess, he’s your companion finally? Does he fill in the gapin’ hole in your heart that Volt left?”

Eddie doesn’t answer as Harper continues to let him have it. Maybe he stays silent because he thinks he deserves it.

“Well, good for fuckin’ you!” She grabs one end of the clothes line before she throws it onto the ground, carelessly stomping on the pictures as she speaks to Eddie. “You are unbelievable! You’re a liar, a traitor, a son of a fuckin’ bitch that should’ve met the fire a long time ago. Tell me where my mother is so I can tell her what a piece of fuckin’ work you are, ‘n then I can watch her beat your ass for pickin’ some Parisian motherfucker over your own daughter!”

Harper pants, tired from her outburst, as she waits for Eddie to respond, but the knowledge she seeks doesn’t come from him. It can’t, and Eddie can practically see the gears turning in her head as she dryly laughs.

“You don’t know,” She comes to that conclusion all on her own, “I thought you were the one who snuck her away, but you’re just as clueless as the rest of us… Fuck.”

“Harper–”

“–if you think there’s a chance that she picks you over me, then you got a fuckin’ storm headed your way, Eddison.” Harper growls before she turns on her heel, exiting the apartment with destruction left in her wake.

“Ah,” Volt sighs as Eddie’s jaw sets, “the wilderness that is our daughter.”

~

“A little to the left, lapinou.” River’s soft instructions cause you to move, carefully adjusting your body on the pedestal as she peers at you over her canvas stand, which feels quite imposing when compared to the beauty behind it.

“Must you continue to torture me?” You jest, fixing your hair before she tuts at you.

“Not yet. I haven’t finished your hair,” A soft blush coats her cheeks as her brush collects some paint, perfectly matched to the color of your hair, on the palette in her left hand, “I spent far too much time perfecting your face. There’s a lot of beauty there, and I felt compelled to capture it in exquisite detail.”

You giggle, placing a hand over your face as your gaze moves elsewhere. You’ve spent plenty of time in River’s private studio, since you’ve been hiding from the coven for… days? Weeks? Months? You’ve lost track of time, but, to be fair, you haven’t been trying to count when you’ve been thriving.

After spending months doing grunt work for Chairemi and Amir, reshaping old plays into something new (and, perhaps, a work that’s a little more tame, according to your tastes), you were desperate to work on your own projects. You were itching to work on your novel, the lovechild of hours upon hours of hard work, where you put your horrific lived experiences into words that were, hopefully, entertaining to a wider audience. That’s why you joined the coven, in part — the other part was to ensure that your daughter remained in good graces with the coven and its… eccentric leader.

Unfortunately, what you failed to take into account was that the coven would drag you into this hunt or that performance or any other number of things that left you with less time for your writing than you had before you became a part of a coven. Not to mention that you missed seeing your family, since Amir had insisted that you, at least, tried to make friends with the coven.

You didn’t. They weren’t really interested in anything beyond your appearance, and when you tried to dig deeper, you found that the majority of their personalities were skin-deep. Chairemi was a notable exception, but she was so far up Amir’s ass that you didn’t want to engage with her more than you had to. Plus, her shoving her work upon your shoulders so she could write a nightly humiliation ritual for your daughter rubbed you the wrong way.

Ah, yes, you had almost allowed yourself to forget about that fucking play. Seeing one performance of that was enough for you. Your ranting and raving about what you saw was reserved for a party of one — River, who Amir allowed you to see once or twice a week when you first joined the coven — and she gave you an excellent suggestion.

“Don’t.”

“What do you mean, don’t?” You shook your head at her. “What if Amir–”

“–a sheep in wolf’s clothing. I know from experience,” She shrugged, “Don’t watch the play if you don’t want to. Don’t spend time with the coven if you don’t like them.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy,” Her hand hovered above yours, “You only have one life to live, Canary. It’s a life longer than what most mortals get, but that doesn’t mean you should spend it living for men who would throw you away at a moment’s notice.”

You thought she was talking about Amir. Tonight’s events, however, would prove that assumption wrong.

“You didn’t have to redecorate for me.” Your eyes scan the room you’re in, noticing the small changes that River’s made to her space since you started living here permanently. There was the desk with your typewriter on it as a prominent piece in the room, alongside a queen-sized bed that shared plenty of good memories for you and for River. Then, there was the vase of flowers that she changed out every week because she knew you liked them, plus she picked out an assortment of dresses for you to wear, if only for the selfish purpose of using you in them as a model for her paintings. “‘M the one botherin’ you by stayin’–”

“–I’ve been looking for an excuse to redecorate, and what better excuse than a pretty woman?” Her flirting is so easy and natural, like she’s not trying to butter you up or apologize through hollow compliments that don’t actually solve any of your issues.

“I hope ‘m not causin’ any trouble for you.” You murmur, wearing a frown as River sets her palette and brush onto her stool before she strolls towards you.

“That should be the last thing on your mind, honey.” Her hand, covered in various shades of pink and purple to match the flowers you hold in your hand, reaches out to cup your face. “Something else is, though.”

“Am I that obvious?” You joke. “‘M worried about what the publishers will say about my work. I know it’s somethin’ that every author deals with, but my book isn’t just a collection of typed words on some paper. They’re a part of me — they reflect my experiences, the shit I’ve lived through, ‘n the people I’ve met that have influenced me, both good ‘n bad. ‘M scared that they’ll hate it, and, as a result, they’ll hate me.”

“No one will hate you, Canary. I read your work, and I loved it,” River’s thumb drags across your cheek, painting your skin with a soft pink hue, “Eddie loved it, too.”

“Eddie says whatever he thinks will please me.” You grumble as your mind goes back to the last night that you spent in his bed.

You didn’t want to argue with him, but something about his tone or words provoked a deep flame within your soul. How dare he accuse you of abandoning and using him when he spent most of his nights with Amir? You tried your damndest to see Eddie more often, but you were brushed off in favor of another. Again.

You played these games before, and it didn’t end well the first time, so you took your chess piece off the board. Fine. Eddie wants to find another to replace the hole in his heart that Volt once occupied? Then you’ll find someone who will help heal your heart and make you believe that someone can love you purely, without expecting you to be someone else or making you into a goddess when you feel like you’ve earned your spot right next to the devil for every sin you’ve committed as a vampire.

Petty? Sure, but you’re getting tired of always being the better person in situations like this. You’ll probably snap back into old habits because that’s who you are, even though you wish to kill off your caring heart when it comes to people who have wronged you. You can’t, though. Not towards Eddie, at least.

God, you’re such a glutton for punishment.

“A dog, but a loyal one,” River smiles when her comment brings a smile to your lips, “You’ve been carrying a heavy weight on your shoulders since you left his side.”

“I don’t know what it is about him, but ‘m drawn to him. It’s like our destinies are intertwined, no matter what we do or say. There’s no vampiric bond to explain what we have, ‘cause it started long before we met Volt,” You try to explain the mess that exists between you and your husband, “I can’t give Eddie up. I can’t hate him, even though I’d like to, at times. He makes the stupidest decisions that he thinks will keep us safe, ‘n he can’t tell me the truth to save his life, ‘n he’s a stubborn ass at the worst of times, but he’s real ‘n he’s safe ‘n he’s mine.”

“You two have been through a lot, haven’t you?” River pauses, allowing you to answer with a small nod. “I can tell that he loves you more than anything or anyone else in the world. He’d move heaven and Earth to get to you, and I don’t doubt that he’d go after anyone who wronged you.”

“I love Eddie so much,” Bloody tears burn your eyes as River pecks the top of your head with her lips, “I should apologize to him. I didn’t mean to ignore him for so long, ‘n I think it’s about time that I–”

“–Canary Watts!”

“Harper?” Your head snaps towards the entrance of River’s studio, where Harper stands with a mix of agitation and intrigue on her face. “You found me.”

“You didn’t make it easy,” She pouts before her eyes flit to River, “you must be her.”

“Ah,” River wears a gracious smile as she approaches Harper with an extended hand, “You must be the Harper I’ve heard such good things about–”

“–not interested.” Harper brushes right past River, who hums and shrugs her shoulders while she watches Harper pull you into a strong hug. “I need to talk to my mother. Alone.”

“The space is yours.” River closes the door behind her, leaving you and Harper alone.

“Don’t you ever leave me alone again, ya hear me?” Her voice threatens to break as you wrap your arms around your daughter, melting into the warm affection that seems to be reserved for you and only you. “A lot of bullshit has gone down since you — we — left Eddie by himself in that apartment.”

“What do you mean?” You frown before your hands find the ends of her braids, and you suddenly realize that she’s still in that dress that you know Harper hates. “Amir’s still makin’ you wear this ugly thing?”

“You heard him. I have to keep wearin’ it ‘til I find my passion for Lulu on-stage,” She rolls her eyes, “but this ain’t about him. Well, it ain’t all about Amir.”

“Amir and Eddie?” Your eyebrows raise when she nods. “Go on.”

“I was…” A red blush coats Harper’s cheeks before she shakes her head. “Out, not doin’ my chores, ‘n Amir came to scold me ‘n bring me back to the coven. We got into it for a bit, ‘n he put his hand around my throat–”

“–I beg your fuckin’ pardon?” Immediately, you see red. “Where is he?”

“Not important,” Harper keeps you on-track, pinning you down with her hands on your shoulders as you digits work to undo the braids that trap her red locks into the same hair style, night after night, “he told me that he knew what we did to Volt. Amir must’ve read our minds the moment we entered the theater. That’s not even the worse part, Mama. Eddie filled in the details for him.”

“...You’re jokin’.” No words can accurately describe the intense heartbreak that you feel at the moment. “Baby, please tell me it ain’t true. Tell me he didn’t–”

“–well, he did, ‘n I know you’re not surprised.” Harper spits out. “I talked to him about it, ‘n it ended in a fight. It always does, with me ‘n him.”

“What’d he say to you?”

“Eddie said that Amir would never do that to me, that it doesn’t sound like him.” Harper snorts when you angrily huff at her words. “Utter horseshit, I know. I don’t get why we aren’t enough for him. We won’t ever be enough for him.”

“I know,” You swallow the lump that’s appeared in your throat, “I’ve known that for a long time.”

“There’s somethin’ else you should know, too,” Harper’s voice drops to a near whisper as she looks at you with tears in her eyes, “about the night Volt died. I didn’t… He didn’t… I blamed myself for a long time, but it wasn’t my fault. I thought I deserved to be hurt for failin’ you.”

“Harper,” Your lips flatten into a straight line, “what are you tryin’ to tell me?”

“Eddie’s hurt me, Mama.” Harper burst into tears. “Not just my heart ‘n my emotions. My body, too — he put a hand ‘round my fuckin’ neck ‘n he told me not to burn Volt.”

~

Eddie expects some sort of big bang. A collision of catastrophic proportions. A slamming door, an argument to end every argument that you’ve had before this one. This is it — the reckoning has come for him, once and for all.

Except it’s not that. Eddie’s nervous pacing is interrupted by the front door to his apartment opening, then softly closing. As if you didn’t want him to hear you coming in. You don’t enter the bedroom right away, either — a hesitation that you wouldn’t have displayed months, years, or a lifetime ago. You’re waiting for a movement on his part, for him to finally meet you halfway after years of subtly forcing you, through his words or actions, to meet him on his side of the world.

Old habits die hard, though. You’re still the one to meet him in his domain, after all of these years and after all of this bullshit.

Suddenly, you appear in front of the door. You lack the vigor and resentment that your daughter had when she stomped through this very place and tore down his photos — photos that he hasn’t put back up, since he’s been so worked up about this very moment.

You say nothing as Eddie stops moving, taking a deep breath in, then out before he meets your unsteady gaze.

Tears. Bloody, messy tears have left streaks of red on your face. Your hair is messy from the wind, your clothes disheveled from when you anxiously pulled on the sleeves of your dress — a bad habit that Eddie knew you had, and he was so used to comforting your mind with a hand on top of one of your own when you would get so worked up about one thing or another.

He can’t comfort you, though. Not when he knows that he’s the reason behind your distress.

“Canary–”

“‘–If you were the last vampire on Earth, it would be enough,’” Your voice breaks with every word out of your mouth, “that was a lie, wasn’t it, my love? You told me such sweet things when I had given up on the world, ‘n I believed you. I don’t know if that makes me a fool, or you, a genius.”

“I didn’t lie–”

“–Me ‘n you,” You point to yourself, then Eddie, “you ‘n me. That’s what you said when we came to Paris. That’s never gonna be real, is it? You have, once again, picked another over me.”

Eddie wishes you were mad. He wishes you were stomping your feet, cursing at him, making him feel the anger coursing through your veins. That very emotion would make the words you just said hit differently. You’d be upset, like a wife finding out that her husband broke their vows, and a screaming match would ensue.

That anger, however, seems to be gone. Perhaps it evaporated as your mind aged, but your body didn’t. You couldn’t possibly get upset at every bit of trauma that you had gone through, purely because there was too much for you to be upset with. It never seemed to end when you all were stuck in that house with Volt. Eddie wears scars from him, too.

The scars you’re showing now, to Eddie’s horror, aren’t from your maker. It’s a classic case of death by a thousand tiny little cuts as your heart bleeds out in front of him because of him.

“You have, once again, picked another over me.”

You don’t sound sad. You’ve just accepted that this is your fate. You will always be the one left behind, the one forced to shoulder his burdens, the one who has to accept the consequences of his actions while he gets to go live his life however he wants.

You know this, too. That’s why your body shudders as you slap a hand over your mouth, trying to contain the hopelessness that’s invaded your body. It’s useless, though. You wear your heart on your shoulder, and all of your emotions come to the surface eventually. It’s one of the things that Eddie loves about you, but only when those emotions are positive.

Eddie flinches when you let out an agonizing wail before your hand grips the doorframe, holding your stomach like you’ve been fatally wounded. The sound shatters his heart and eardrums in one go while your body fails you, slowly sliding to the floor before you collapse into a pile of clothes and limbs. Your head leans against the doorframe as your hands wrap around your stomach, desperate to soothe yourself and your unborn child.

“Despite what you might think,” Volt murmurs, standing next to Eddie as you sob uncontrollably in front of them, “I didn’t — don’t — like seeing her like this. She thinks she was born broken, but that simply isn’t the truth. I broke her. …We broke her.”

Eddie looks over to Volt, expecting to see some hint of self-satisfaction on the man’s face, but there is none; however, a single bloody tear runs down his face as Volt refuses to look away from you.

“I loved Canary. I thought I knew what was best, but I pushed her away from me. I became my Maker, the man I despised with all of my heart,” Volt wipes the tear with his sleeve before he continues on, “Eddie, you and I could live a thousand lifetimes and still not be worthy of her love. She is the North Star, the sun, the moon, the stars. The guiding light, the moral compass we didn’t deserve. If you lose her, you’ll lose everything because she is everything.”

“Do you think that I don’t know that?!” Eddie snaps, temporarily forgetting that you were in the room before you bitterly laugh at his outburst.

“Even now, his ghost taunts us. I’ve always known when he was plaguin’ you, Eddie.” You sniffle softly before more tears run down your face. “What’s he sayin’ to you now?”

“I–” Eddie pauses, looking to Volt, of all people, for guidance.

“–this isn’t between the three of us anymore. This has spiraled beyond my reach, past what even I can help you with.” Volt walks towards you before he places a hand on your head, trying to comfort you even though he has no physical form. “Sois fort, petit agneau. Le pire est encore devant toi.”

Volt disappears, leaving Eddie to clean up his own mess.

“He’s usually tauntin’ me about somethin’ I did or said,” Eddie admits, not able to look at your shivering form as guilt wraps around his body since he knows he caused you to be like this, “it’s not pleasant.”

“He’s like that with me, too.” You hiccup before you wipe some spare tears away with the palm of your hand. “Some things never change.”

Dead silence.

“I love you, sweetheart–”

“–don’t. Please don’t act like everything’s fine when it’s not.” You murmur. “You didn’t believe our daughter when she told you that your lover choked her out. You told Amir that you ‘n your daughter killed Volt. You let him torture Harper, night after night, on that stage, where he makes her prance around like a bird, in a dress made for a doll–”

“–I told Amir I didn’t like what he was doing to her,” Eddie interjects, “...tonight. I told him tonight–”

“–and that’s not the worst part,” Your bottom lip quivers as you speak, “I have spent the last seven years lovin’ a man that put his hands on my baby girl. …Fuck you for hidin’ that from me. Fuck you for takin’ advantage of me, ‘n don’t you dare say you didn’t, ‘cause you did, ‘n you know you did.”

“Mon ange–”

“–and after all of that shit,” You blow a piece of unruly hair out of your eyes, which are red from hours of crying, “I still love you, ‘n that tears me apart. I love a man who wrapped his hand around my daughter’s throat. I love someone who would pick a two-year fling over his own family, a family that he made–”

“–you needed Harper,” Eddie slowly walks towards you, feeling brave enough to face you, “‘n I needed you.”

“When did I ask you to turn some poor little girl into a doll for me to dress up ‘n play with?!?” You spit at him, causing Eddie to stop in his tracks before you burst into tears once more. “I didn’t ask you for her. I didn’t want her. I just wanted someone who loved me as I was–”

“–She does–”

“–Prissy did, too, but you killed her.” You point out. “You took everythin’ ‘n everyone I loved away from me, ‘n you stuck a broken girl in my arms ‘n expected it to fix me. …It didn’t. It just pushed away the pain ‘n resentment I felt towards you ‘n Volt, but it eventually resurfaced. It always does.”

Eddie never thought about it like that. He didn’t stop to consider what you would think when he brought Harper to Volt before he begged the man to turn her.

You’re right, like always. She didn’t fix anything. She didn’t fix your marriage, your heart, your relationship with Volt… she was just a shitty bandage over your bleeding heart.

“But I loved her with all of my heart,” You get choked up as you talk about Harper, “‘n I still do. I never thought about bein’ a mother ‘til I fell in love with you. I had so many siblings, so kids never interested me ‘til I thought about havin’ some of our own… I would’ve been such a good mother, Eddie, if things had been different–”

“–you are a good mother,” Eddie argues, leaning against the opposite part of the doorway so you know he’s close, but not close enough to convince you to do anything that you don’t want to, “Harper loves you. She’d go to war for you. Hell, she figured out where you were, after weeks of silence from you, ‘cause she’s pissed at me.”

“Yeah,” You chuckle a bit, “I guess you’re right.”

“I haven’t been the husband you need or deserve, mon ange.” Eddie lets his back slide against the wall until he’s on the floor too, and he offers you a pained smile before he holds his hands out to you, palms-up. “You deserve someone who’s gonna protect your heart ‘n take care of you like I never could. You deserve someone who is as selfless ‘n as kind as you are. You deserve someone who makes you feel like the saint of a woman that you are, every goddamn day of your life.”

“But I don’t want someone who’s perfect or better for me,” You sigh, taking heaving breaths as you try to fight the bloody river that flows from your eyes, “All I ever wanted was you. I didn’t want you ‘cause you were like a man from one of my favorite romance novels — God knows that you’re not. You smoke like a chimney, you drink a little too much for my likin’, ‘n you can be a bit mean-spirited at times.”

“Merde, pretty girl, tell me how you really feel.” Eddie jokes, causing you to softly snort.

“‘M goin’ somewhere with this, be patient,” Your playful lecturing brings a genuine smile to his lips, “Eddie, those things don’t really matter to me, ‘n even if they did, you somehow managed to make them good things. You never blow any smoke in my face, you can’t stop kissin’ me ‘n tellin’ me how much you love me when you’re drunk, ‘n you always make sure that you’re bein’ respectful when you talk to me, even when you’re upset.”

You place your shaky hands into his.

“Eddie, I fell in love with you ‘cause you’re a good man. Sometimes, you make rash decisions ‘n you act with your heart instead of your mind, but you’ve never been malicious on purpose. You lie ‘n cheat ‘n kill to protect your daughters ‘n your wife. You infuriate me with your terrible decision-makin’, but I love you anyway. There are things you’ve done that I will never forgive you for, but that doesn’t push me away from you, even though it should.”

“You don’t have to love me,” Eddie intertwines his fingers with yours, “I don’t want you to force yourself to love me ‘cause we have history.”

“I don’t have to force myself. It’s natural. I love you with every breath I take.” You giggle as you stare at his hands, “Merde, we are fucked up, aren’t we?”

“We’d be boring if we were normal,” He shoots back before you grin at him, “I owe you an apology–”

“–Eddie, honey, save the apology. …I’ve spent a lot of time thinkin’ about what would finally push me away from you. I… I have to draw the line somewhere,” You squeeze Eddie’s hands, “but I won’t stop caring about you. I won’t stop bein’ someone you can count on, I just… can’t be with you anymore. Not after all of this.”

“If that’s what you want,” His heart sinks to the floor, but he’s past the point of earning your grace. Eddie’s fucked up big time — losing you, as painful as it is, is his penance, “I love you, Canary. I’ll always love you, even from afar.”

“No fightin’, no tryin’ to convince me to stay…” You click your tongue, smiling as you shake your head. “I was wrong about you. You have changed.”

“You have, too. You’re gentler, quieter…” happier is the word Eddie wants to add on, but he chooses not to. “More confident. I like what she’s brought out in you.”

“Thank you, my love.” You bite your tongue, realizing your error. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have called you that after I–”

“–no, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Eddie reassures you, “Call me whatever you’d like.”

“...You’re okay with me leavin’?” Your eyes go to the skirt of your dress. “If you want me to stay–”

“–you’re my wife, not my prisoner,” He brings your hands to his lips — an instinctual habit that brings him pause until you nod at him, telling Eddie that it’s okay for him to kiss each of your fingers individually, “just come around ‘n visit every once in a while, okay? I’ve missed seein’ you.”

“Even if we’re not…?”

“Nothin’ will stop me from caring about you.” Eddie murmurs before he helps you to your feet. “That dress looks nice on you.”

“Oh, this? River wanted to paint me, so she bought me a few dresses I could wear while she…” Your face flushes as you trail off. “Thank you. I… I think I should go.”

“Do you want me to walk you out?”

“No, ‘m fine.” You let go of Eddie’s hands, only to wrap your arms around him before you whisper in his ear. “Give me a few years, Eddie. I need some time to think about how I want us to move forward.”

“Take all the time in the world,” Eddie tells a half-lie before he kisses your cheek, “Good night, Canary. Stay safe. If you need anythin’–”

“–I know where to find you.” You wink at him before you backpedal towards the door. “G’night, Eddie.”

The door firmly shuts behind you, and only when Eddie is sure that you’re out of earshot, he breaks down.

“Fuck!” Eddie can’t help it — the vase in the foyer is all too-tempting, and it hits the wall with a satisfying crashing sound that helps relieve the frustration inside of him.

He shouldn’t have let you go. You didn’t need to go. He could’ve fixed this if he said the right thing, or did something else instead of letting you waltz your way right out of his life.

Maybe you would’ve stayed, then. Or, you would’ve left in a rush, considerably more upset than you were to begin with.

Eddie did the right thing… but why does he feel terrible about it?

“That went better than expected–”

“–shut up.” Eddie growls at Volt, who steps around the shards of the broken glass vase.

“Canary needed to leave–”

“–you’re the one who wanted her to stay–”

“–only so you’d stay.” Volt shrugs. “I did what I had to.”

“Fuck you.” Eddie spits out, causing Volt to gasp dramatically as he clutches his chest.

“You’re in a foul mood.”

“You put me in a foul mood.”

“Wow, were you always this cranky, or is this a new development from your time in Paris with Amir?” Volt taunts as Eddie brushes past him to rehang the clothes line that Harper messed up earlier.

“Stop.” Eddie says with a finality that does make Volt shut his mouth… for about five seconds.

“You should go on a hunt. It’ll help clear your mind.” Volt suggests.

“Tomorrow. Not tonight, I…” Eddie pauses. “Got some thinkin’ to do.”

“Can I come along?”

Eddie freezes when he locks eyes with the only picture of Amir within his collection of photos, hanging right above the coffin that you and Eddie once shared.

“Sure.”

~

“What are we hunting for, mon chéri?” Volt asks with an unexpected amount of excitement, as Eddie has never been one to happily accept an invitation for a hunt.

“What are we hungry for, Volt?” Eddie flips the question back onto the spectre that haunts his mind as he holds onto the base of the umbrella tightly.

Rain smacks the pavement beneath his feet with force, but the death grip Eddie has on the umbrella will prevent him from getting soaked.

I can’t do this… can I?

He knows why he led Volt to this park. This is about ending whatever the fuck is happening in his mind while he fixes the only relationship that he has some amount of control over… but his mind still wanders back to you. It always does.

You loved rainy days. While others might be upset that their outdoor plans were ruined, you took it as an opportunity to indulge in indoor hobbies that you often didn’t have time for — reading, writing, and a bit of sewing, if you were feeling adventurous. You weren’t very good at that last one, but Eddie always thought you were cute when you pouted after the stitches didn’t turn out right.

Eddie’s favorite part of those storm nights, however, was when he’d find you curled up by a window, fast asleep and peacefully dreaming. Eddie never dared to disturb you since you looked so perfect as you were, but he always drew the curtain shut, so you weren’t burned by the sunlight, before he threw a large, warm blanket over your body. You always smiled when he did so, and you would even laugh in your sleep when he just had to kiss your cheek because you looked too irresistible.

…It’s been less than a day, and he’s going mad with desire and longing for you. How the fuck is he supposed to last a few years like this?

“The pick of the city.” Volt’s answer redirects Eddie’s attention to him. “Perhaps a couple — an illicit couple, out for a cheat? We could drain them in heat. Let their children answer a knock at the door. A pale-faced policeman, a ride to the morgue.”

“Yeah, all that.” Eddie’s still in another world as he gestures for Volt to sit on a nearby park bench. “Have a seat.”

“Hunt later?” Volt’s eyes shine with hope, which makes Eddie feel a little bad for lying to him.

“Yeah, hunt later.”

They’re not hunting later.

Eddie holds the umbrella over both of their heads as they take a seat on that very bench.

“You summoned him?” Volt whispers as Eddie’s eyes go to the man approaching the two of them in the distance.

Not just any man, though. One that they both know. Intimately.

“I did.” Eddie quickly answers.

“You’re going to break it off with him, aren’t you?” Volt confidently smiles as Eddie nods in pretend agreement. “Well, it had to happen. Doomed, always doomed. I’m happy you tried with someone else–”

“–no, you’re not.” Eddie cuts him off before Volt shrugs.

“That’s what you wanted me to say.” He argues.

“And you say what I want you to say now?”

“Do I?” Volt leans closer, and Eddie can almost taste the aftershave oil that Volt used to wear religiously.

He’s not here.

“Say apple.”

“Apple.” Volt responds, unsurprisingly.

“In French.” Eddie challenges.

“...La pomme.” Volt’s eyes go down to Eddie’s lips before he meets his lover’s gaze once more. “There isn’t going to be a hunt, is there?”

“No.” Eddie quietly answers.

“...Why this suit?” Volt gestures to the tan suit that he wore on the night you and Eddie first met him, in a bar that is little more than ash and distant, forgotten memories.

“It’s my favorite on you.”

“Really?” Volt’s eyebrows fly up in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

Eddie, suddenly, pulls down the umbrella. His clothes and face are quickly dampened by the rainfall, but that’s not his main concern at the moment. He can’t tear his eyes away from Volt, who seemingly melts away in the rain, slowly fading into the park’s background.

“Well, it’s quite nice, I suppose. Herringbone wool, notched collar.” Volt adjusts his clothes, like he has no idea what is happening. “You might not know this, but I had the tailor inscribe your initials, alongside Canary’s, on the back side of the ticket pocket.”

Volt places a hand over that very pocket, the one that lies over his heart.

“Right here,” He murmurs before he fades into nothingness, “so your names would always cradle…”

And he’s gone. Not temporarily gone. Permanently gone. Perhaps Eddie’s finally let go of Volt, being encouraged to do so after you let go of him.

It doesn’t matter, as Eddie has no time to recover before Amir takes Volt’s place on the park bench.

“You summoned me.”

“I felt your panic.” Eddie folds his arms over his chest as Amir looks off to the side.

“The center isn’t holding. Mutiny is brewing. Everyone is doing what they want, when they want.”

“Everyone but you.” Eddie says, thinking of how you and Harper are off doing what you want, when you want, at this very moment.

“I’m not sure I can keep obedience any longer.” Amir admits. “Drysdale wants–”

“–your job.” Eddie interrupts.

“Others will follow him. You should… think of leaving.”

“No.” Eddie immediately turns him down. If you’re staying in Paris, then so is he. He won’t go where you can’t find him. “‘M stayin’ in Paris, with you, ‘n everyone’s gonna be happy.”

“Eddie–”

“–’m not an artist, ‘n I don’t know too much about the theater,” Eddie’s honesty causes Amir to place a hand over his, “but I used to be real good at runnin’ things. …’m a little wet.”

That last statement is a test for Amir. Eddie’s life is rapidly spiraling out of control — he has no agency or choice or control over your life or Harper’s, but he does have control over what he does with Amir, and that has to be his grounding force… for now.

As Eddie expects, Amir grabs the umbrella from him before he opens it up, hiding them both from the rainfall.

“Drysdale wants to be coven leader.” Eddie explains. “Give him the job. Watch him fail–”

“–Never–”

“–Listen to me.”

“I can’t. I will not.” Amir shuts Eddie down.

“Fine. Then, throw him a bone, at least. Let him feel like he’s your… heir apparent, or whatever the fuck you call it,” Eddie says, “He’ll overplay his hand, ‘n everyone will see him for what he is. When they know they don’t have an alternative, they’ll beg for you back. That’s when you can decide if you want it back, or if you want somethin’ else.”

Eddie offers Amir a cigarette, but to his surprise, Amir lights it before he hands it back to Eddie.

“I want you,” Amir warmly confesses, “I want you more than anything in the world.”

God, does it feel good to have someone say that to him. The people who once wanted Eddie are either dead or missing. He needs to be needed by someone, anyone — and Amir will do just fine.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes, Maître.” Amir weakly answers Eddie’s call, and the two spend the rest of the night on that very park bench, talking the night away.

~

Drysdale, Memoria, and Chance watch as Eddie holds the door to his apartment building open for some mysterious being that is invisible to their eyes.

“Third floor balcony.” Chance glares at the exact apartment that Eddie, presumably, just exited.

“Keep a watch.” Drysdale announces to his companions before he charges ahead.

“Eyes, ears, and minds.” Memoria seems to agree as she and Chance take off to the left and right respectively, leaving Drysdale to charge ahead. He checks to make sure no mortals are around before he flies up to the third-floor balcony, where the door that leads inside of the apartment has been left open, for one reason or another.

Pulling a curtain back with a clawed hand, Drysdale enters the space with some sense of caution, still a little afraid of being caught after his little… debacle in the restaurant.

He won’t be embarrassed like that any more.

Drysdale stalks through the apartment, smiling with brief amusement as he eyes the burnt crisps of photos that once existed, alongside those that remain untouched on the clothes lines that they hang upon.

Odd. He never thought that Eddie’s space would look like this. Messy didn’t seem to be his… thing. The man seemed well-kept to Drysdale, but perhaps that was because of your influence.

Ah, yes, you. The reason he’s here. In this godforsaken apartment, there should be something about–

There. Near the smaller of the two beds in the room. A pile of diaries. Yours, perhaps? You were a writer — a well-known fact in the coven — but you must’ve indulged in a bit of casual writing on the side. Who else would dear, darling Harper pick up the habit from?

He picks up the journal, and to his absolute surprise, it’s not your handwriting that greets him — it’s Harper’s.

And, boy, does he find out some interesting stuff about your time in New Orleans. Especially in a small little journal that has a few certain French words written in Volt’s blood…

After Drysdale grows bored of his investigations, he calls out to his companions.

“Chance?”

“Sitting on a bench,” Chance murmurs, watching Eddie and Amir cordially interact, “having a smoke.”

“Lady Memoria?”

“Nothing but a man walking a dog. A drunk asleep in his auto.”

“Good, very good.” Drysdale gathers Harper’s journals in his clutches — the rest of the coven must be aware of what Harper’s written, and they simply won’t believe what he has to say if he has no proof. “Meet back at the theater, and stagger your arrivals.”

Drysdale exits from where he came from, only stopping to pet the photographed face of his beloved coven leader.

“Yes, Maître.” Memoria and Chance answer at the same time before Drysdale disappears into the night sky.

~

“You made me look foolish!”

“You just assume it was me.”

“Well, it wasn’t me!”

“You sure about that?”

“Excuse me?”

“I take it back–”

“–take it way fuckin’ back!”

Eddie and Amir’s arguing is like music to Dolly’s ears as she listens to them from another room. She’s been doing a bit of research on this Keith guy that Amir brought up during his little museum date with Eddie, but she’s had no luck besides a very flattering painting that is, presumably, not an accurate depiction of the man.

“I apologize.”

“Do you think I need to be coddled and lied to?”

“I said no such thing, Eddie.”

“But you’re doing it anyway. You can’t even say Canary’s name without grimacing or frowning because you think it’ll affect me–”

“–she’s a sore spot for you.”

“A sore spot? After everythin’ you know about her, after spendin’ twenty-ish years with her, that’s how you describe my wife?!”

“I did not mean to offend–”

“–well, you have.”

…Jesus Christ.

Dolly attempts to type a few notes on her computer, but she’s cut off by a sudden memory that pops up when Amir yells something at Eddie.

“Even as he cried, a splinter of coldness in you.”

Suddenly, that youthful version of Dolly is eye-level with Amir again.

“Is that what makes you fascinating?”

A TV reporter talking about… the weather? A body in a bag, freshly deceased and ready-to-go. Teeth. Pain. Anger. Agony. Amir holding a tape in his hands.

Yeah, no, fuck this.

Dolly scours her computer files, quickly working through folder after folder of recorded and printed interviews that she’s done until she stumbles upon a file named San Francisco, 1975.

“Don’t be afraid. Just start the tape.”

“You weren’t always a vampire, were you?”

That’s her voice, saying the second line that continues to ring through her head. Not Eddie. Not River. Not Amir.

But none of them said that first line…

“Don’t be afraid. Just start the tape.”

Dolly scrolls through the folder. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

Fuck.

“Amir, I want you to be honest with me. Did you hide those stamps from me?”

“No, absolutely not–”

“–did you hide her letters from me?”

“The ones in your library? …They’re missing?”

“Yes, they’re missing! I told you to keep track of them. Canary’s words are the only thing I have left of her–”

“–Dolly must’ve taken them.”

“You do realize that accusing her of stealing them makes you look guilty of stealing them, right?”

Dolly ignores Eddie and Amir, choosing to search her first and last name within the files she has gathered on her computer, alongside what River gave her.

Then, she strikes gold. She finds photos of herself, being carried out of a mysterious apartment building in the seventies. There’s a black and white photo of her entering said building, pinned-between you and River while Dolly wears a blissful, naive smile on her face. Oh, if only Dolly knew.

Holy shit. Is that…

At the bottom of the search page, there’s two audio files. She’s now got two recordings of the very last tape that she recorded with you and Eddie, back in nineteen seventy-five. Thanks to Amir’s meddling, she thought they were gone forever, but apparently, someone out there is looking out for her.

Dolly remembers to plug in her earbuds, not wanting to be disturbed by the continued argument that’s going on in Eddie and Amir’s bedroom.

The world, for a moment, falls silent. Then, Dolly feels a hand on top of hers, gently guiding her fingers as she directs the mouse on her computer screen to the play button.

She freezes as she remembers that very touch. The gentleness of those caresses, as if the woman who gave them was worried about breaking the mortal.

Dolly looks over to find that she’s not alone on the couch; however, what she’s seeing must be a figment of her imagination… or her illness. Or both, perhaps.

Because you are nowhere near Berlin, Germany, yet here you are, looking as beautiful as you did when Dolly first met you. Your hair is styled the same way, and your body looks as tempting as ever — Get a hold of yourself! Pinning over Eddie’s wife is what got you into this mess in the first place — but your smile is what really does her in.

“Don’t be afraid,” You murmur, eyes going to the screen in front of Dolly as you help her frozen hand press the play button on her screen, “Just start the tape.”

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