Chapter 29: Bloodletting

"Are you hurting?" he asked her.

"No," she replied. "A little. I'm just sorta nervous, I think," she admitted. She didn't feel the sting anymore. She was certainly exhausted. Breathing felt strange. Her heart was pounding away, but she was so tired it almost escaped notice. She was wrapped under half a dozen blankets and she still felt cool. The frames on her glasses dug a little bit into her nose and the side of her head that lay against her pillow, which was a little annoying, but she didn't want to move.

The hours of daylight they were afforded when they should've been sleeping had been a blur. She remembered only a few bits and pieces. Kisses blended into each other, soft slowly turning sharp. Her fingernails dug into his clothes and skin. His mouth on her neck until she got dizzy. She had always been a resilient healer. Trying to bleed herself out took all day.

Dracula reached out, the back of his hand brushed her forehead and along the fan of snakes covering her pillow. He couldn't keep his hands away from her hair for very long and the reminder left her very pleased. "Everything's gonna be alright," he said.

He had gotten just as lethargic as she was. In fact, he could barely keep his eyes open. Maybe they had just been up for far too long, or maybe it had something to do with all that blood. They'd decided to rest for ten minutes but neither of them had bothered to check how long they'd been lying there still. Medusa figured she must've dozed off once or twice already, but she couldn't be sure. She felt hazy. Like there was a strong possibility that none of this was even real. That she just dreamt the whole thing.

She shifted, adjusting her shoulders, and a fresh, throbbing sting from the wound there resurfaced. She shut her eyes and let it pass. Dracula lightly squeezed her hand. Not a dream after all.

"It'll be alright," he repeated. They didn't have the energy to speak in anything other than a low murmur.

"You were born a vampire, huh?" she asked him.

"Yeah."

"How old are you?"

His eyes cracked open. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

"535." He went back to stroking her hair. "What about you?"

"I'm 541," she smiled. "I got six years on you." It didn't amount to much at all, but it was nice to know.

"Impossible. You can't be a day over 500."

She laughed as loud as she had energy for, which wasn't very much at all. "Damn charmer," she whispered.

"What color are your eyes?" He asked. She must've stayed silent for too long because he eventually added, "Just curious."

"It would spoil the surprise wouldn't it?"

"You don't know?"

"No, I meant," she stopped and sighed, she'd forgotten already what she meant. "You know how your eyes have a blue part and a black part in the center of it?" She said slowly. "My eyes are like if the black part covered the color. Like, just a black, white and black, blackness," she mumbled clumsily. "It's kinda ugly, actually."

"Doesn't sound ugly to me."

Even half-asleep she could tell he was serious. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to grab him by the collar and kiss him senseless but she didn't have the strength. "Well, when you see 'em you can," a yawn overtook her, "you can tell me what you think."

Her eyes closed and she didn't try opening them again. In all her life, she had never felt so drained. The glasses still hurt the way she was situated but what he was doing to her hair felt amazing and she didn't want to move at all. Last day with the damned glasses, she reminded herself. Provided this worked out.

"How do we know if it's working?" She whispered. He didn't say anything. His hands had stilled. "Drac?" She forced her eyes open. "Dracula?"

He was already asleep. His eyes were closed and his jaw slack and his fingers curled around a section of her hair.

She wanted to stay forever like this. This blend of exhaustion and comfort and happiness, where he would lie facing her, defenseless and calm, and everything was alright.

She didn't last long before sleep claimed her too.

Medusa woke up slowly, in stages. First noticing that she was very comfortable, like lying on a soft cloud. Next that any trace of light around the window shades was gone. Then a dull soreness in her neck surfaced. She pulled herself up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. How long had she been out? Had it worked? She didn't feel any different. She dragged her fingers against her neck. The puncture wounds had closed up into small, round scabs.

The room was thoroughly dark when she stumbled out of bed for the vanity. Couldn't vampires see in the dark? Blindly she dug through the top drawer until she found the matchbox, pulled one out, and struck it. The little flame pushed out the darkness in a very small, flickering circle, but it was enough. She leaned into the mirror and checked her reflection, teeth, skin, hair. All the same. She hadn't turned at all. The gorgon still stared back at her.

The flame rode up the match to her fingers, quickly reminding her to transfer it to a candle where it wouldn't hurt her. She studied the marks on her neck. The hazy spell borne of blood loss or something else had all but gone from her mind. Instead of blissful and dizzy she felt sober and aching. Perhaps she just healed too quickly. Perhaps it would never work after all.

Medusa grabbed the neck of the little candle holder and turned back to the bed. He was still there, frozen in time, still distinguishable despite the dim light. It was difficult to stay disappointed.

She sat on the bed next to him, holding the candle out so she could see without worrying about dripping wax. He slept stiff as a board. As if he hadn't twitched a muscle for hours. There was much of him that was still an enigma to her, she was certain he had to feel the same way. She couldn't even tell if he needed to breathe, she should've paid more attention. She leaned in, trying to tell if his chest moved.

And then he jolted awake.

The moonstone had quit on her an hour ago, but she hadn't used that as an excuse to stop working. Hecate dug her chisel into the floor, once, twice. Her arms were tired and her back cramped and sore. It was a crude method. She much preferred magic. She cast the flecks of rock aside, studying the indentation left behind.

It was gorgeous. The best she had ever done. She stood in the center of her masterpiece, letting her eyes bask over the winding curves branching out across the floor, symbol to symbol, a complex and intricate pattern forever branded into the heart of the hotel. Every line carefully, evenly, dug three inches deep. Excitement swelled in her chest.

She owned this place, bought and paid for with sacrifice and study and sweat. It was all hers now.

She filled the crevices with water. The trails ran perfectly, little rivers that mapped out her intentions, her hopes, her future. The future of the world. Each circle represented a phase of the moon, the power she would draw from. The inscriptions inside covering every detail. Nothing could be overlooked. She read the spell over once more. This was her one opportunity, but she could not be more prepared.

The hardest part was all but done. All she needed now was for the moon to rise.

Dracula rose to conscious suddenly, in a panic, without being certain exactly why. There was one, eye-catching bright spot that swept into rapid motion the instant he became aware of it. He scrambled back, purely on instinct, and the light, much smaller than he initially perceived it, drew away and then fell out of sight accompanied with a crash. It only took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden dark.

Medusa all but tumbled into a corner with the agitated vibrations of a terrified animal. She sunk to the floor. The heel of her palms dug into her face, where her eye sockets were. He remembered something in the light that woke him, a shape that might've been her face.

"Medusa, I'm alright," he reassured her. He turned his hands over, stretching his fingers just to convince himself they could still move. Medusa stayed frozen in the corner, hiding herself.

He swooped in next to her. A burnt out candle lay cracked in half on the floor in front of them and he was able to piece together what had happened.

"Did you hear me?" he reached for her slowly, to avoid startling her any further. "I'm okay. Really." He made contact with her shoulder and she snapped, pulling flush against the wall and as far from him as possible.

"Glasses," she muttered behind her hands. "Need the glasses."

"Okay, okay, just-" he darted around the bed, searching. He tore away the pillows. Dug through the covers. He finally spotted them folded up on the floor, fallen between the head of the bed and the wall.

She turned her back to him as she put them on. He knelt on the floor a pace away, giving her a little space. Her hair curled up and shoulders tensed and he waited for a long time in anticipation for her to calm down.

"Are you alright?" He reached for her again. She got up, leaving him arm in mid-stretch on the floor. He watched her gather up her jacket from the floor where it had been discarded earlier. She retrieved her bow and quiver with one hand, a large satchel slung over her shoulder. Had she ever unpacked at all?

"What are you doing?" She didn't answer him. She pulled her boots on without bothering to tie them and headed for the door. "Medusa," Dracula shot up. "Medusa, wait!" He zipped in front of her, cutting her off just as she left the room. "Where are you going?"

"I shouldn't have come here at all. I'm sorry," she shoved past him. For a second he froze in the doorway. How had this gone downhill so fast? She was running down the staircase and he followed at her heels.

"What are you talking about? Nothing happened," he called after her. She pulled on her jacket as she clamored down, one sleeve and then the other. "Can't we talk about this? Like adults?"

"Don't you get it?" she whirled around, hair writhing agitated and angry. "Don't you understand what could've happened? I almost-," her breath hitched.

"It was just an accident. I'm fine. Look," he held out his arm to her for the third time, and for the third time she tugged away from it.

"No, Dracula, an accident is tipping over a glass of wine. I am not an accident. I am a tragedy waiting to happen."

"There's no tragedy. I'm alright. We just have to be more careful, that's all."

"I'm dangerous. I've always been dangerous. Next it could be you, it could be your daughter, it could be anybody, and there's nothing you could do about it. It's just not safe for me to be here, it will never be safe."

Dracula's blood began to heat with frustration. "So, what have you been doing here all this time? What was this, a huge crap shoot?"

She hesitated, just long enough for him to regret saying it. The anxiety in her face turned from offensive to defensive. "Goodbye, Dracula," she said, ice cold. She spun down the stairs, heading for the next flight in a full run.

Dracula cursed under his breath, smashing his forehead into his palm. He transformed into a dark streak, speeding down the middle of the spiraled staircase, for once grateful that the tower was so long, and arrived at the elevator just before she did.

"Look, I didn't mean that," he told her. She jammed the elevator call button. "Can you just- talk to me, Medusa, please."

"There's nothing to talk about. It was stupid of me to come here in the first place."

"It wasn't stupid," he insisted. "Please-"

"Don't ask me to stay, Dracula," she begged. "I can't. Please don't ask me."

His troubled heart stilled, blood taken off the heat. That was exactly what he'd been about to ask her.

"I'm so sorry, Dracula," she was completely calm now. Soft spoken and steady. It was a bigger barrier than trying to shout at him. At least then he was expected to respond. He never would've kissed her had she not risked it first. She must regret all of it.

She sighed, "This isn't your fault, none of it. There's some things you just can't fix."

The elevator arrived, doors slid open with an inappropriate cheery ding. He'd completely missed the sound of it's approach.

"I'm so sorry." Medusa repeated one last time. She slithered by him, into the elevator, and shut the doors, careful to avoid facing him the entire time.

Dracula stood motionless watching the elevator vanish. He didn't try to follow.

Few monsters were up by the time Medusa left, and for that she was beyond relieved. She didn't bother checking out. She got off the elevator, raced straight through the lobby and across the bridge and didn't stop running till she was stumbling deep through the snow and woods. The hotel was a tiny, dark silhouette of itself in the distance behind her.

Her eyes stung. The wind had kicked up, blasting her face and hair till they felt numb with cold. She knocked against something, a root, a branch, a particularly rough patch of ice, and caught herself, hands splayed against the trunk of a tree. It was then she realized she was crying.

Medusa went through great pains not to cry, especially in front of other people. She hated the feeling. The headache, the loss of control, the helplessness. She hated the visions her mind's eye came up with, animals caught unaware, unable to run, the men in Crete frozen with swords raised, the sheik preserved in grey limestone among his treasury of gold. Above all else, she hated seeing the boy, not even yet five, still holding her sleeve in his tiny fist where he'd surprised her. She'd recognized his curly hair, the shape of his blank, sculpted eyes. It didn't matter how far she ran, how many continents she crossed, how many centuries she survived, the fact remained his father would come upon the statue and know what she had done. He would never forgive her.

Here, in the harsh cold, she let herself weep for all of them.

Mavis woke up earlier than usual to the sound of incessant knocking. When she threw open the door, the hallway was mysteriously vacant.

"Down here," the shrunken head hissed at her.

"Wha-?" Mavis wiped the sleep from her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Something strange is goin' down, Mavis," she replied. "Monsters are heading down the underground labyrinth and ain't coming out."

"The labyrinth? You mean the exit tunnels?" Mavis knelt near the doorknob, talking quietly enough to avoid disturbing any of the other rooms.

"And word just spread through from the grapevine," she went on, "the Count came down from the high tower arguing with the gorgon. About a tragedy gonna happen soon."

"Arguing?" The grapevine was an interconnected gossip chain made up of all the hotel shrunken heads, who frankly didn't have much else to occupy their time. It was notoriously unreliable as messages tended to transform beyond recognition when passed from head to head. They had to be taken with a grain of salt, even if some grain of truth was at it's center. However, Mavis knew she wouldn't be woken up early for just any odd rumor.

"And I swear I keep seeing the same ghost skulking around at odd hours. It ain't my place to judge how ghosts do their business but this lady ought to respect people trying to sleep."

"Luenell, did you know where my dad is?"

"Ground floor says he's gone to the library. You'll get to the bottom of all this, won't you, honey?"

"I'm sure everything's fine," Mavis tried to sound reassuring. "Though with all the weirdness going around I guess anything's possible."

She didn't bother to get her sneakers and simply traveled down to the library in her long nightgown and socks. Early cleaning crew and security guards were basically the only monsters up and about at this hour.

Mavis found Dracula alone in the library, sitting with his knees pointed up and arms tightly hugging his middle, staring into the fireplace. The dancing flames created a rim of orange light against his face, sharply contrasting the shadows under his eyes. He looked terrible, like he hadn't slept at all.

"Dad?" she stepped forward carefully, tentatively. It was strange seeing her normally active and upbeat father so still and hollow. She'd only seen him like this a handful of times. "Hey, Dad?" she tried again.

He snapped away from the fire, looking lost for a second as he realized where the voice came from. "Mavis?" he cleared his throat. "What are you doing up?"

"It's almost sunset," she said. "Is anything wrong?"

"No, sweetfangs, it's all- fine," the lie stood out plain on his face, as if it'd been written across his forehead.

"Where's Medusa?"

"I don't know, she- she had to leave."

"Wait, what?" Mavis cocked her head. "I don't understand. Where would she go?"

Dracula fidgeted, wrung his hands. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

"She didn't even say goodbye."

"I'm sure she had her reasons."

"What reasons? No, that's not-!" her voice rose almost on a dime and Mavis had to stop herself before launching into an anxious rant. How could she leave just like that? Without warning? "What happened?"

"It doesn't matter, honey. This is probably for the best. We can just go back to the way things were before."

"I don't want to go back," she protested. She felt livid. Betrayed.

"Mavis-"

"No. It's not right to just run off and leave your friends for no reason."

"We can't keep her if she doesn't want to be here, sweetie."

In that moment, Mavis felt childish. Like she was throwing a tantrum over a lost pet. As if her father was unaffected by the loss when clearly something in him had been torched by it. She recognized in Dracula the same emotion, the same heartbreak and fear, that had gripped her when she'd come running here after the argument with Johnny. He had let her cry it out till she felt better. He had been there for her. "Dad," Mavis took a breath, "did you love her?"

He tensed, head to foot. "I-It's complicated."

"Well, is it a complicated yes, or a complicated no?"

He glanced at the fire, avoiding her. The flames reflected in his eyes, large and glassy.

"It's okay if you do," Mavis said, quietly. "You're allowed to love somebody. If you want to."

For a short time, he left her in contemplative silence. Then, Dracula took her hand, looked her in the eye, as if trying to explain something delicate to a child. "I have all the love I will ever need here. Okay? I will always belong here, and she," he paused, searching for the best way to put. "Medusa has to be where she belongs. It's for the best." He offered his daughter a weak smile.

Mavis tried to return the smile, but it was halfhearted at best.

Dracula patted her hand and then rose out of his chair. "I should go check on the kitchen," he said. "Boiler is still broken."

Mavis didn't move after he'd gone. She stood in the near vacant library, her solemn expression gradually turned steely and fired with determination.

A/N: 30 whole chapters. Good God! Well, folks, I'd like to thank the academy and the readership for sticking with this thing through all the long ass hiatuses and all the good people I met on this crazy fanfic train. You mean so much to me. I will never forget this incredible experi...

Okay, just kidding, it's not over.

-Luenell is the voice actress for the shrunken head in the movie. Since I couldn't find an official name for the character (and because her name is pretty rad) I decided to use it.