Chapter Text
"So. The Disaster is dealt with? Truly?" Geoffrey McCullum asked, disbelief clear in his tone. He was leaning over a railing looking down at two newly-dug graves that Jonathan had specifically ordered - one for Harriet Jones and one for Doris Fletcher.
"As truly as any man could. I could not save Harriet Jones, but the Morrigan has returned to her slumber. As for the healthy carrier, she… has dealt with the matter herself," Jonathan replied solemnly. While he had honestly known how the encounter with Harriet would go, he truly thought that he would be able to convince Lady Ashbury to let him help her cure the Blood of Hate; he should have been able to. But none of his words had reached her, and this weight would surely stay with him for a very long time.
"And you're telling me this all started because that idiot Swansea did a stupid experiment with Ashbury's leech blood?" Geoffrey continued, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. "Unbelievable.." he muttered.
Jonathan grit his teeth at his progeny calling his one true friend since dying a leech, but thought better of arguing about it, instead opting to cover that flash of anger with sarcasm. "Is it as unbelievable as me starting the epidemic all the way from France?" Jonathan teased, hoping the irritation in his voice was only heard by himself.
Said irritation was either missed or ignored as Geoffrey answered flippantly, "You're a damned strong leech, Dr. Reid. Who the hell knows what you've been up to all these years." He took a swig from a flask in his coat. Jonathan's sense of smell could easily tell it was tea, even from their distance from one another; that was certainly strange, in more ways than one. He'd have to ask about that. For now, he had to set his progeny straight.
"'All these years?' Mr. McCullum, I only became a vampire a month ago¹- the same day I returned from the front."
Geoffrey sputtered spectacularly on a poorly-timed drink from his flask and Jonathan barely managed to fight down a grin at the sight. Geoffrey quickly wiped his face with the back of his glove, then turned to face Jonathan with an incredulous laugh. "You? A month old vampire? You dangled me by my legs with fucking shadow tentacles and skewered me like a hog with just one month of vampirism under your belt?" Another bark of laughter, and Geoffrey steadied himself against the railing, as if Jonathan had told him the funniest joke on Earth.
"What's next?" his progeny asked, grinning at him as if he were mad. "Gonna say you haven't killed anyone before? That you're a good little leech that's never had human blood before and only eats its veggies?" Another fit of mocking laughter.
Laughter suited Geoffrey's face far better than the scowl he usually kept, but Jonathan decided that particular thought could be picked apart later. As good as it was to make his prickly progeny laugh, Geoffrey really was being an ass about this; no two ways about it. And while Jonathan could tell him as such, he decided now was as good a time as any to make a case for himself; before he found himself fighting the vampire hunter again. He wasn't too sure he'd win a second time with Geoffrey's new vampiric strength.
"I've only killed once - right after I awoke as a vampire," Jonathan answered in a measured tone, ignoring Geoffrey's hysterics. His throat grew tight at the memory, but he continued, "Since then I've not killed or fed from a single human."
Geoffrey's giddiness fell from his face as the silence stretched on without Jonathan delivering the punchline. "You're- you're serious, aren't you Reid?" He asked in a suddenly grave tone. Jonathan could only assume his way of life was seen as impossible by all of Priwen's accounts, and maybe even the Brotherhood's as well. Perhaps it really was, and it was only a matter of time until Jonathan caved in and started hunting humans. He chose not to think of that possibility and instead confirmed simply, "Quite serious, Mr. McCullum."
Geoffrey grew silent for a while, deep in thought. Jonathan wouldn't even begin to assume what was going through the hunter's head; that was a mess he did not want to tangle with anytime soon.
"So, if you have this much strength in such little time" Geoffrey finally spoke up, after a period of uneasy silence. "Just who exactly is your Maker?" he asked with an expression Jonathan couldn't place.
Maybe Jonathan had been underestimating himself this whole time. It was hard not to think about just how much more powerful he would be if he simply fed from humans, but that was not a thought for the here and now.
Remembering Geoffrey had asked him a question, he replied, "I would not be surprised if you knew more about him than myself. He says that he was a child of the Morrigan and that he was also the Maker of William Marshal. It seems we were… siblings, of a sort."
Geoffrey's face grew increasingly grim as he talked, and it almost made him hesitant to continue. "He gave me the name 'Myrddin Wyllt.' Does the Guard of Priwen have any record of this vampire?" Jonathan asked, a sour taste developing on his tongue.
Geoffrey ran his fingers through his hair - a nervous tic, maybe - and heaved out a heavy sigh. “Myrddin Wyllt, is the Welsh name of someone I’m sure even you have heard of, Reid,” he began, his usual cool scowl back in place. “You would have heard of him as the wizard Merlin, in your rich boy literature classes.”
Jonathan easily ignored the gentle jab. He was far more pleased with being called ‘Reid’ rather than leech. Geoffrey must have actually believed him not to be feeding on humans, and that had earned him at least this much. It seemed McCullum was far more amenable to reason than he was before, now that there isn’t an epidemic at the forefront of his brain. It made sense, really.
“As for information on your Maker, the Guard has close to nothing. Just the folklore anyone else would have access to, a few dubious excerpts, and a transcription of a letter we intercepted a while back from the Brotherhood, which contained one of his supposed poems,” Geoffrey continued. Jonathan could tell he was upset with this particular gap in the Guard of Priwen’s library. Maybe the Brotherhood would have more information, but Usher Talltree had already left London, if not England altogether. And Dr. Swansea… was no more.
The mention of poetry stood out to him, though. Words came to his mouth unbidden. “ Twelve dreams for the red queen under crown of stone. That she may linger longer with eyes kept closed ,” Jonathan recited. He now remembered hearing these words as he awoke in the mass grave. This must have been one of Myrddin’s poems. “Is that how the poem began, Mr. McCullum?” Jonathan asked, feeling sure of the answer.
Geoffrey nodded and confirmed, “That’s the one, Reid.”
Jonathan repeated the first two lines to himself again, and found the rest of the poem came easily to him. He must have heard it countless times, at least subconsciously. “These were the words I heard when I first awoke. I can remember the entire poem. He must have repeated it many times while I was… asleep. Perhaps I did not wake as quickly as he had hoped?” Jonathan mused, mostly to himself.
He was startled a bit when Geoffrey said, “Not quite. An ekon of your generation could take as long as a week to awaken. That poem… If Myrddin was even half as powerful as some myths would claim, I think it was specifically used to wake you sooner.² Like a spell, of sorts.”
“An ekon of my generation? What do you mean by that?” Jonathan asked with a tilt of his head. He didn’t recall hearing anything of generations from either Lady Ashbury or Dr. Swansea.
Geoffrey waved his hand dismissively, but explained anyway. “It’s an old method of categorising vampires, used during the first Great Hunt. A vampire’s generation would be determined by how many steps away from William Marshal and others of similar power the vampire was. As you and William Marshal shared the same Maker, you would both be first generation vampires,” he explained, then paused. With a bit of difficulty, he finished, “And I and anyone else you’ve turned would be second generation. It’s not something we keep track of anymore.”³
"I'm sorry I turned you, Mr. McCullum," Jonathan blurted out. It was very true, though he hadn't expected to say it. Geoffrey gave him a confused look and Jonathan explained himself. "I considered just leaving you there in the hospital, but I couldn't trust you not to shoot me in the back as I left and-" Jonathan stopped himself for a moment, then admitted sheepishly, "Well, the light show really pissed me off if I'm being honest."
Geoffrey scoffed and turned his gaze back down to the graveyard below. "Good to know I lost my humanity because I pissed off the good Doctor Reid," he muttered. Any anger he held for Jonathan had simmered into bitterness, and it was… completely and utterly unexpected. It didn't sit well with Jonathan at all.
"You have not lost your humanity, Geoffrey," Jonathan scolded, with a fierceness he hadn't expected from himself. "You can only lose your humanity if you cast it away yourself. I am certain of this."
Geoffrey gave him a mirthless smile, simply saying, “Life through the looking glass is terrible.”
"I should've been with you when you woke up. I shouldn't have left you like my Maker left me. Blood bags aren't enough," Jonathan said with a sigh. Everything had gone wrong at the worst of times, and he hated himself for not being there when his progeny needed him.
Geoffrey shook his head. “I thought those were from you.⁴ I was ravenous when I came to, but I managed to ration half of them out well enough after that,” he said, then flashed a much more genuine smile. “It’s probably for the best that you left me there, Reid.”
He got up from leaning on the railing and instead turned to sit on it, and Jonathan followed suit. “I likely would’ve killed you for what you did - or died trying to at the least,” Geoffrey added with a snort.
“Do you still wish to?” Jonathan asked carefully. “I would not blame you if you did.”
Jonathan studied his progeny closely, under the flickering street lamps and the half moon’s dim light. Geoffrey stared at his hands intently and his eyebrows were screwed into a tight knot on his forehead. His hands even twitched every so often. From deep thinking perhaps? He was giving far more thought to this than Jonathan would have ever expected from him. With how often he threw the word ‘leech’ around he thought it would be an easy answer for the vampire hunter. He noticed that Geoffrey still breathed, as he himself did, and that gave him an odd sense of fondness.
“I won’t kill you,” Geoffrey finally decided, and Jonathan’s eyes widened in shock. “So long as you behave yourself,” he continued, “your life is in no danger from me.” He emptied the last of his flask with a frown, and then asked, “Did you want to kill me when I attacked you in the hospital?”
That didn’t quite answer his question, but his own answer came quick and easy. “No, never. I have never even entertained the thought of killing a human since becoming a vampire, and certainly not you.”
Geoffrey scoffed. “Certainly not me? I hunted you down purely because you were a vampire and even accused you of starting this whole epidemic. And you really never thought once of killing me?” he questioned, leaning toward him tauntingly. He suddenly pulled himself back with a frown - more strangeness from him.
Jonathan leaned away in hopes of making him more comfortable, which seemed to work, so he explained, “I have not once thought of you as my enemy, Mr. McCullum. We’ve had the same goal from the outset; I just so happened to be a vampire and you a vampire hunter.” Jonathan smirked to himself, then added, “And if you happened to come to some… interesting conclusions about me, well, that’s nothing to get bloodthirsty over. No pun intended.”
“Alright, I get the picture. Now can it, Reid,” Geoffrey snapped.
There was no bite behind it.
Jonathan smiled and they both fell into a companionable silence.