The antique grandfather clock marked the hour, subtle whirring mechanisms
heralding deep, resounding chimes. Brass weight swinging inside the
carefully-polished casing, the glass reflected golden oblongs of light from
study lights. Only when the chimes reached twelve did Rowan look up,
realising an hour's extra research had stretched into several. Groaning
soundlessly, she wiggled a kink from her back. With cotton-gloved hands,
she carefully closed the leather-bound book before her - the journals of a
fourteenth century priest and sometime vampire hunter, all in Medieval
Latin. Peeling off the gloves, designed to protect the delicate pages from
skin oils, she glanced at the long-cold cup of tea at her elbow and
grimaced. A line pad lay next to the journal, page after page filled with
handwritten translations and notes.
Half-heartedly attempting to scrub the Biro stains from her fingertips, she yawned softly. Blinking in the dim light, she gazed affectionately at the neatly regimented bookcases stretching from floor to ceiling. Crammed with meticulously preserved volumes, manuscripts and grimoires any antediluvian, academic or sorcerer would dearly love to study, the Hellsing Order's expansive library contained enough to keep her occupied for an entire career. The shelves, all serviced by wheeled ladders, held tomes from the world over. Merely the smell of the old parchment, the dusty dry ink, the creak of a book spine, made her happy.
'If only this was just an academic exercise,' she thought, a touch sourly. 'I could lose myself in all these wonderful books. But six months down the line and all I've gained is access to the library and archives. Not so much as a glimpse of what I really need to study.'
Earlier that evening, she had received a summons to Integra Wingates Hellsing's office. Her valet, bodyguard and former Hellsing assassin, Walter, had ushered her through with a smile and a nod. Dark hair swept back, a monocle fixed to his wrinkled eye, he appeared harmless. Rowan knew better, having happened upon him practising in the courtyard with his garrotte wires. Lady Integra, perched serenely behind her huge mahogany desk, had acknowledged her with a small tip of her chin.
"Miss Wilde," she had greeted in her cool, clipped tones. "I have been reviewing your work for the Special Archive Projects. Most impressive."
Rowan had dipped her head, accepting the praise without comment. Integra was known for not suffering unnecessary conversation. Tapping a long, cylindrical ash from her cigarillo, Integra had signed a document with a gold-nibbed fountain pen.
"As from now, your probationary period is over. Only half our work is done by brute force, the rest lies with faultless research. I trust you need no reminder about the sanctity of the Holy Order and our mission."
It was not a question. Light winking from her silver-rimmed glasses, Integra's neon blue eyes impressed the gravity of the trust she placed in her employees. Murmuring her assent, Rowan had collected her contract of permanent employment and turned to leave. As the door clicked to behind her, she had heard Integra call for a glass of cognac. The valet's throaty voice, muffled through the heavy timber, was mostly unintelligible, but one word had remained clear.
"Alucard."
Rowan broke her recollection with a slight shiver, smiling at her foolishness as she realised she had spoken aloud. Tucking a hank of her long jet hair behind her ear, she gathered up her notes.
'I'd need more than that to summon Hellsing's number one, not-so-secret walking, talking weapon, she thought dryly. Like some pretty high level blood magick. The soldiers talk about him with itchy trigger fingers.'
Recalling the footage she had seen of the Tower Of London incident, she shook her head slightly. She had been several dozen miles away at the time, and the psychic fallout had knocked her out of her chair.
'I sometimes wonder if the Iscariot have the right idea - wipe them all out. You can't control something like him forever. Goddess help us if he gets off his lead and decides it's playtime. He'll play football with Integra's severed head.'
All the fine hairs on the nape of Rowan's neck abruptly rose, prickling, streaking goose pimples down her arms. Pupils dilating, slate grey eyes wide against the darkness pooling between the study lamps, she turned a slow semi-circle. She was being watched. Instinctively, she drew her mind in, dampened her aura, third eye throwing out steel scales to shield from intrusion.
"You're new."
The voice was male, a cathedral organ baritone, appearing to emanate from the top of the bookshelf to Rowan's left. She stared up into the gloom, unable to see who, or where, the speaker stood.
"Not really," she replied calmly.
A soft rumble of laughter echoed from somewhere near the ceiling, then again to her right. Eyes flicking towards the sound, she caught a fleet shadow, merging with the darkness. Heart beginning to trip, but not yet certain who she addressed, she squared her shoulders.
"Who is this?" she demanded, raising her voice slightly. "Come out where I can see you."
Silence answered her. Seconds ticked past with the smallest hand of the grandfather clock, not so much as a creaking floorboard indicating a presence. Making a show of nonchalance, Rowan shrugged her narrow shoulders and took a step towards the library doors. Twin disks of reflected light flashed in the blackness between the nearest two bookcases, catching her attention.
"I wonder why it is you can shield your thoughts from me," the same voice observed conversationally. "And just why did you call me?"
Etiolated features pared by shadows, a man in a claret red velvet duster coat and brimmed hat stepped out. Ruby eyes half hidden by yellow-lensed glasses, he leaned against the end of the bookcase, dark hair falling over his brow. Taller than Rowan by almost a foot, he gazed down at her with mild amusement and casual menace. Clutching her books to her chest, almost as if to muffle her heartbeat, she quirked an eyebrow.
"Call you?" she said frostily. "I don't even know who you are." 'Shit! I must've projected earlier. He heard me. It's Alucard in person. Don't bugger this up, Rowan, don't let him slip past your defences.'
Alucard chuckled, pressing a white-gloved hand to his chest in feigned horror. A sliver of fang showed at his mouth, differentiated in shade from his skin only by a wet gleam. He had not fed recently, his pallor as complete and flawless as alabaster.
"I think you do. Or your heart wouldn't be beating quite so quickly."
He cocked his head and slipped his glasses further down his nose, a wing of untidily spiked hair falling away. He smiled sardonically as Rowan held his gaze unflinchingly, dancing crimson lights curving through his eyes.
"Brave little librarian," he observed mockingly.
Grey eyes narrowing, Rowan's chin came up defiantly, fingers tightening around her notepad and books.
"Tired and overworked librarian," she corrected icily. "Without time or inclination to be used as a chew toy for Hellsing's pet vampire. Excuse me."
Jaw tight, back straight, she stalked past him towards the exit doors, kitten heels clipping as she reached the marble tiled walkway. Every nerve in her body shrieking for her to turn around, to check where the vampire was, she gritted her teeth and continued. The sensitive skin at the soft juncture between her ear and jaw tingled, reminding her of the jugular pumping beneath.
'Don't show your hand,' she told herself fiercely, feeling her palms itch. 'He's just testing you. He's not going to suck dry his master's newest star employee.'
She was scant steps away from the massive brass-handled library doors, long hair tapping just above her waist as she walked, when her feet left the floor. Yelping as she collided with the nearest wall, books tumbling from her arms, she swallowed reflexively as a powerful gloved hand pincered her throat. Heels scraping ineffectually against the tiles, she fought to regain her breath.
"Even the most domesticated animals occasionally bite." A finger touched the I.D badge pinned to her suit jacket. ".Miss Wilde."
Alucard grinned broadly, seemingly highly entertained, displaying twin rows of ivory needles. Abruptly releasing his grip, slamming his open hand against the wall by her head, he leaned in. Choking, rubbing her bruised neck, Rowan heard the plaster crumbling beneath his palm. Warm incisor points grazed her ear.
"Coward," she hissed venomously, voice a low croak.
The vampire stopped dead, pulling back, eyebrows disappearing under his black fringe, hat brim dipping. Something approaching surprise briefly wiping the sarcasm from his pale features, he stared at her.
"What?!"
Moistening her dry mouth, Rowan clenched her fists and blazed up at him, consciously allowing her fury to build. Imprisoned, a red-clad arm blocking her route either side, she snarled.
"You heard me! Is this how you get off? Throwing women half your size against walls, knowing they can't possibly fight back?" Her lips skinned back and she laughed into his face. "Alucard, monster killer extraordinaire! Bloody pathetic!"
It seemed for a moment she had rendered him speechless, mouth pinched into a bloodless line, eyes wide behind the yellow lenses. Something namelessly destructive passed darkly over his expression. An incisor popped over his lower lip and he began to laugh uproariously, arms dropping as he clutched his sides. Cautiously, Rowan pulled her jarred spine away from the wall. Doubled over with mirth, the vampire's laughter rang from the vaulted ceiling. The peals died away as he straightened, slipping off his glasses to wipe his eyes on the back of his hand. The tears left faint pink stains on the white gloves. He shook his head, silent humour quaking through his frame.
"Goodnight, Miss Wilde," he said gravely.
To her astonishment, he politely doffed his hat. Turning in a crimson swirl of coat tails, he melted into the ether, leaving her alone. Fingers unconsciously rising to her throat, searching for puncture marks she knew she was unlikely to find, Rowan gathered up her scattered books. Drawing in a long breath, surprised to find she was not shaking quite as badly as she expected, she left the library.
'Teach me to complain I'd not seen him.'
*
Half-heartedly attempting to scrub the Biro stains from her fingertips, she yawned softly. Blinking in the dim light, she gazed affectionately at the neatly regimented bookcases stretching from floor to ceiling. Crammed with meticulously preserved volumes, manuscripts and grimoires any antediluvian, academic or sorcerer would dearly love to study, the Hellsing Order's expansive library contained enough to keep her occupied for an entire career. The shelves, all serviced by wheeled ladders, held tomes from the world over. Merely the smell of the old parchment, the dusty dry ink, the creak of a book spine, made her happy.
'If only this was just an academic exercise,' she thought, a touch sourly. 'I could lose myself in all these wonderful books. But six months down the line and all I've gained is access to the library and archives. Not so much as a glimpse of what I really need to study.'
Earlier that evening, she had received a summons to Integra Wingates Hellsing's office. Her valet, bodyguard and former Hellsing assassin, Walter, had ushered her through with a smile and a nod. Dark hair swept back, a monocle fixed to his wrinkled eye, he appeared harmless. Rowan knew better, having happened upon him practising in the courtyard with his garrotte wires. Lady Integra, perched serenely behind her huge mahogany desk, had acknowledged her with a small tip of her chin.
"Miss Wilde," she had greeted in her cool, clipped tones. "I have been reviewing your work for the Special Archive Projects. Most impressive."
Rowan had dipped her head, accepting the praise without comment. Integra was known for not suffering unnecessary conversation. Tapping a long, cylindrical ash from her cigarillo, Integra had signed a document with a gold-nibbed fountain pen.
"As from now, your probationary period is over. Only half our work is done by brute force, the rest lies with faultless research. I trust you need no reminder about the sanctity of the Holy Order and our mission."
It was not a question. Light winking from her silver-rimmed glasses, Integra's neon blue eyes impressed the gravity of the trust she placed in her employees. Murmuring her assent, Rowan had collected her contract of permanent employment and turned to leave. As the door clicked to behind her, she had heard Integra call for a glass of cognac. The valet's throaty voice, muffled through the heavy timber, was mostly unintelligible, but one word had remained clear.
"Alucard."
Rowan broke her recollection with a slight shiver, smiling at her foolishness as she realised she had spoken aloud. Tucking a hank of her long jet hair behind her ear, she gathered up her notes.
'I'd need more than that to summon Hellsing's number one, not-so-secret walking, talking weapon, she thought dryly. Like some pretty high level blood magick. The soldiers talk about him with itchy trigger fingers.'
Recalling the footage she had seen of the Tower Of London incident, she shook her head slightly. She had been several dozen miles away at the time, and the psychic fallout had knocked her out of her chair.
'I sometimes wonder if the Iscariot have the right idea - wipe them all out. You can't control something like him forever. Goddess help us if he gets off his lead and decides it's playtime. He'll play football with Integra's severed head.'
All the fine hairs on the nape of Rowan's neck abruptly rose, prickling, streaking goose pimples down her arms. Pupils dilating, slate grey eyes wide against the darkness pooling between the study lamps, she turned a slow semi-circle. She was being watched. Instinctively, she drew her mind in, dampened her aura, third eye throwing out steel scales to shield from intrusion.
"You're new."
The voice was male, a cathedral organ baritone, appearing to emanate from the top of the bookshelf to Rowan's left. She stared up into the gloom, unable to see who, or where, the speaker stood.
"Not really," she replied calmly.
A soft rumble of laughter echoed from somewhere near the ceiling, then again to her right. Eyes flicking towards the sound, she caught a fleet shadow, merging with the darkness. Heart beginning to trip, but not yet certain who she addressed, she squared her shoulders.
"Who is this?" she demanded, raising her voice slightly. "Come out where I can see you."
Silence answered her. Seconds ticked past with the smallest hand of the grandfather clock, not so much as a creaking floorboard indicating a presence. Making a show of nonchalance, Rowan shrugged her narrow shoulders and took a step towards the library doors. Twin disks of reflected light flashed in the blackness between the nearest two bookcases, catching her attention.
"I wonder why it is you can shield your thoughts from me," the same voice observed conversationally. "And just why did you call me?"
Etiolated features pared by shadows, a man in a claret red velvet duster coat and brimmed hat stepped out. Ruby eyes half hidden by yellow-lensed glasses, he leaned against the end of the bookcase, dark hair falling over his brow. Taller than Rowan by almost a foot, he gazed down at her with mild amusement and casual menace. Clutching her books to her chest, almost as if to muffle her heartbeat, she quirked an eyebrow.
"Call you?" she said frostily. "I don't even know who you are." 'Shit! I must've projected earlier. He heard me. It's Alucard in person. Don't bugger this up, Rowan, don't let him slip past your defences.'
Alucard chuckled, pressing a white-gloved hand to his chest in feigned horror. A sliver of fang showed at his mouth, differentiated in shade from his skin only by a wet gleam. He had not fed recently, his pallor as complete and flawless as alabaster.
"I think you do. Or your heart wouldn't be beating quite so quickly."
He cocked his head and slipped his glasses further down his nose, a wing of untidily spiked hair falling away. He smiled sardonically as Rowan held his gaze unflinchingly, dancing crimson lights curving through his eyes.
"Brave little librarian," he observed mockingly.
Grey eyes narrowing, Rowan's chin came up defiantly, fingers tightening around her notepad and books.
"Tired and overworked librarian," she corrected icily. "Without time or inclination to be used as a chew toy for Hellsing's pet vampire. Excuse me."
Jaw tight, back straight, she stalked past him towards the exit doors, kitten heels clipping as she reached the marble tiled walkway. Every nerve in her body shrieking for her to turn around, to check where the vampire was, she gritted her teeth and continued. The sensitive skin at the soft juncture between her ear and jaw tingled, reminding her of the jugular pumping beneath.
'Don't show your hand,' she told herself fiercely, feeling her palms itch. 'He's just testing you. He's not going to suck dry his master's newest star employee.'
She was scant steps away from the massive brass-handled library doors, long hair tapping just above her waist as she walked, when her feet left the floor. Yelping as she collided with the nearest wall, books tumbling from her arms, she swallowed reflexively as a powerful gloved hand pincered her throat. Heels scraping ineffectually against the tiles, she fought to regain her breath.
"Even the most domesticated animals occasionally bite." A finger touched the I.D badge pinned to her suit jacket. ".Miss Wilde."
Alucard grinned broadly, seemingly highly entertained, displaying twin rows of ivory needles. Abruptly releasing his grip, slamming his open hand against the wall by her head, he leaned in. Choking, rubbing her bruised neck, Rowan heard the plaster crumbling beneath his palm. Warm incisor points grazed her ear.
"Coward," she hissed venomously, voice a low croak.
The vampire stopped dead, pulling back, eyebrows disappearing under his black fringe, hat brim dipping. Something approaching surprise briefly wiping the sarcasm from his pale features, he stared at her.
"What?!"
Moistening her dry mouth, Rowan clenched her fists and blazed up at him, consciously allowing her fury to build. Imprisoned, a red-clad arm blocking her route either side, she snarled.
"You heard me! Is this how you get off? Throwing women half your size against walls, knowing they can't possibly fight back?" Her lips skinned back and she laughed into his face. "Alucard, monster killer extraordinaire! Bloody pathetic!"
It seemed for a moment she had rendered him speechless, mouth pinched into a bloodless line, eyes wide behind the yellow lenses. Something namelessly destructive passed darkly over his expression. An incisor popped over his lower lip and he began to laugh uproariously, arms dropping as he clutched his sides. Cautiously, Rowan pulled her jarred spine away from the wall. Doubled over with mirth, the vampire's laughter rang from the vaulted ceiling. The peals died away as he straightened, slipping off his glasses to wipe his eyes on the back of his hand. The tears left faint pink stains on the white gloves. He shook his head, silent humour quaking through his frame.
"Goodnight, Miss Wilde," he said gravely.
To her astonishment, he politely doffed his hat. Turning in a crimson swirl of coat tails, he melted into the ether, leaving her alone. Fingers unconsciously rising to her throat, searching for puncture marks she knew she was unlikely to find, Rowan gathered up her scattered books. Drawing in a long breath, surprised to find she was not shaking quite as badly as she expected, she left the library.
'Teach me to complain I'd not seen him.'
*