r e c l a m a t i o n

Title: with a change of mind (comes a change of heart) [or read on Ao3]

Fandom: Vampyr

Pairing: McCullum/Reid

Rating: Teen

Warning: None

Tags: Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Enemies to (almost) Lovers, Canon-Typical Violence, inappropriately timed moments of attraction, Complicated Relationships

Summary:

A nurse discovers the body lying across the steps of Pembroke Hospital. A throng of bystanders quickly congregates—hospital staff and a few patients. The nurses, inured to the horrors of present-day London, dutifully begin shepherding the patients away while someone fetches the doctors.

“He’s dead,” Swansea pronounces shortly after arriving on the scene, palm resting on the corpse’s unmoving chest. He examines the body more closely, prodding at the torn throat and hums thoughtfully. He adds, “How odd. Judging by the unusual lack of blood at the wound, it appears the cause of death may have been exsanguination.”

『Or, Reid has to ask McCullum for help when a murdered body is left at Pembroke.』

A nurse discovers the body lying across the steps of Pembroke Hospital. A throng of bystanders quickly congregates—hospital staff and a few patients. The nurses, inured to the horrors of present-day London, dutifully begin shepherding the patients away while someone fetches the doctors.

“He’s dead,” Swansea pronounces shortly after arriving on the scene, palm resting on the corpse’s unmoving chest. He examines the body more closely, prodding at the torn throat and hums thoughtfully. He adds, “How odd. Judging by the unusual lack of blood at the wound, it appears the cause of death may have been exsanguination.”

Reid is about to join him, but he notices two young men stalking toward the scene, and so he holds back for the moment. They are easily spotted as the Guard of Priwen; both wear the conspicuous khaki uniforms, each trimmed in a scarf, and carry their weapons and miscellany hanging on their belts clear for anyone to see. The last of the nurses give the pair a look and retreat further into the hospital.

“Exsanguination,” one repeats. “Fancy word considering you know what caused it, eh?”

The other stands shoulder-to-shoulder with his partner. He says, with a calm that speaks of wrath, “This poor sap surely didn’t drain himself. And everyone knows you’ve been keeping that pet leech about.”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Swansea says, nearly yelling, in a nervous voice. “We will not have violence on Pembroke’s grounds. It is neutral territory!”

Reid takes this as his cue that he may be needed. He keeps his steps imperceptibly soft, drawing up behind the two Guards. He catches Swansea’s eye over one’s shoulder.

“There’s already been violence,” the first Guard points out loudly and gestures at the body. “Life’s already lost, and you stand to protect the murderer.”

“You will disturb my patients,” Swansea says, gaining confidence from Reid’s presence. “I will not stand for that.”

“Then bring him out, Doctor, and we’ll settle the matter elsewhere. It’s for the good of your patients anyhow, or they’ll end up like this—drained and cold.”

“Bring out who?” Reid asks, conversationally.

Both Guards whirl around, startled. One fumbles at the unlit torch on his belt while the other staggers back, nearly tripping over the corpse. Reid offers them a grim smile. “As Doctor Swansea mentioned, this is neutral territory. Additionally, whatever you might think, this is as much of a mystery to us as it is you.”

“Leech,” the one with his hand over his torch hisses. “You cannot take the Guard of Priwen for fools.”

Reid bites his tongue at the obvious response—a fool is a fool, regardless of what he says. Instead, he continues, keeping his tone reasonable, “Either way, unless you have the discretion to do so, I don’t imagine your leader would appreciate you breaking the peace.”

That seems to pull them up short. They share a glance, weighing their options.

Reid pushes a bit more, “You know where to find me. I’ve been at Pembroke for over a year, and I do not plan to leave any time soon.”

It is the truth—a full year since he returned to London, and it feels longer than that.

One of the Guards points at him. “Just you wait. Priwen won’t forget.”

They leave and Swansea exhales in relief.

“Nice work, Jonathan. I never know how to deal with them when their master isn’t around.”

Reid kneels to take a closer look at the body. It is a young man—no more than twenty by the look of him. The death would have been recent, there’s still a hint of warmth in the body. The neck is brutally torn open. And he has been drained of nearly all his blood.

In this, Priwen is not wrong: the signs clearly point to the work of a vampire.

Swansea rubs his face. “What a mess. By the Stole, it is a good turn of fortune they have not yet identified me as an immortal.”

“Edgar,” Reid begins, hating that he has to ask, “did you harm this boy?”

“What? No!” Swansea says, stuttering. “Jonathan, though you know I keep my personal matters private, you should know I would never endanger Pembroke in that way.”

Reid studies him. Although Swansea appears nervous, his eyes flickering away whenever they meet Reid’s, he doesn’t appear to be lying. Reid supposes this situation calls for nervousness—there is a murder at their home and Priwen is involved—and decides to move on.

“Right, then,” he says. “Then we are left with two questions: who did this? And what do we do now?”

Swansea grimaces. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that this was simply a run-of-the-mill coincidence. Someone finds the body, doesn’t know what to do with it, and so they bring it to the hospital.”

“Unaware of the two Ekons who work there?” Reid asks, incredulously. “It seems unlikely.”

“Indeed, I thought so, too—but occasionally one needs to hear it said aloud to know exactly how preposterous it sounds.”

Reid crosses his arms, and adds, “My guess would be that we were intended to find the body as a message. Or that the timing was not accidental.”

“You’re suggesting that whoever left it wanted us in hot water with Priwen,” Swansea surmises.

“Yes.”

They pause over that thought for a moment.

“Regardless, what’s done is done. I’ll notify Mister Chadana to take care of the particulars,” Swansea says. He looks at Reid, wringing his hands, “Unfortunately, Priwen is not likely to leave this one alone, I’m afraid. Especially after you sent them off with their tails between their legs.”

“No,” Reid agrees. “I doubt they will.”

“We need to speak with McCullum,” he finally says.

“Geoffrey McCullum?” Swansea asks. “Are you mad? He’ll kill us both.”

“Let’s hope not,” Reid says, grimacing.

Reid doesn't know what to do about their grisly discovery, but he does know Priwen is already involved—and happy to fix him for their suspect—so it logically follows that a confrontation with McCullum will happen eventually. He may as well bite the bullet, so to speak.

Making the issue worse is the fact that he and McCullum had been on the path to friendship not all that long ago before their attempts were utterly derailed. Approximately a month ago, something overcame McCulllum and he dropped to his knees in front of Reid, opened his trousers, and took him in his mouth hungrily. Reid had returned the favor happily enough. But after that night, McCullum made himself scarce. They haven’t exchanged more than a handful of words since.

Reid can only hope that they’re able to set embarrassment aside and discuss matters of importance now.

He sets off to find McCullum, who doesn’t take much searching to find. Perhaps it is because Reid has found himself more attuned to McCullum’s presence recently. Or perhaps it is because McCullum is, as is his habit, on the hunt.

What he doesn’t expect is for McCullum to get the drop on him first.

Reid ducks into a dismal flat, worn to shards with age and ill repair, only to find himself pinned up against the insubstantial wall by a hand around his neck and the sharp tip of a sword digging under his chin. Just as quickly, McCullum’s hand drops from his throat to fist in the lapels of his coat, a tight and threatening grip. The tip of the sword remains.

Reid believes he could throw McCullum off without too much damage to himself—but it would do his purpose no good. Additionally, McCullum has always had a way of surprising him, and so Reid makes himself still under McCullum’s grasp.

“Doctor Reid,” McCullum says, as if greeting him in passing on the street. “I heard about your trouble at the hospital. Finally decided to give in to your nature after all this time?”

“No,” Reid denies, shortly. Though the sharp metal digs into his skin, he can't help the sense of relief at McCullum listening rather than trying to lop his head off without so much as a question.

“Then it was one of your leech friends.”

Reid shakes his head, scratching himself on the sword in the process. “Again, no. I think you know I don’t keep much company of that nature.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Ah,” Reid says, not sure where to begin. His plan, which seemed so practical an hour ago, seems ludicrous now under the judgmental stare of Priwen’s leader. Even so, he says, “I suppose I came to ask for your help.”

“You’re joking,” McCullum responds. When Reid does not answer, McCullum searches his face. Whatever he finds amuses him because the sword lowers and he lets out a choking laugh. His other hand is still balled into Reid’s lapels. He shakes his head. “But I’ll be damned. You’re not joking. Can’t say I saw this day coming. Go on then. Tell me your story and I’ll see if I believe you.”

And so, Reid tells him what little he knows—the body, the cause of death, and the too-coincidental presence of the Guards. He omits the fact that Swansea is now an Ekon, rationalizing that it isn’t relevant to the situation and McCullum is not likely to take it well whenever it does come to his attention. Once Reid stops, McCullum is still gripping Reid’s coat, but he thinks Reid’s story over and worries the corner of one mouth with his teeth.

Eventually, McCullum gives a shrug and releases his grip on Reid.

“I shouldn't,” he says, “but I believe you. God help me for a fool.”

Reid shouldn't question a gift, but he asks before he can stop himself: “Not that I want to second guess my good fortune, but can I ask why you believe me?”

“Don't get the wrong idea,” McCullum says, sharply. “It has nothing to do with what you’re thinking. Helping you is a matter of convenience.”

“How do you mean?” Reid asks.

“I see it like this: either you did the deed or you didn’t,” McCullum holds up a hand to stop Reid’s protests. “I don’t think you did—you’re smarter than shitting where you sleep, if nothing else. Which means there’s a dangerous leech out there that I need to find and put down. Or, on the off chance that I’m wrong and you are turning feral, then I’ll be right there to end it.”

“And by ‘it,’ you mean ‘me.’ How practical.”

McCullum shrugs again and says, “Beggars and choosers.”

“If I were choosing, I’d rather not have this situation happen at all.”

“Indeed,” McCullum agrees. “And while we’re wishing—I hope I don’t have to execute you at the end of this road, Reid, but know that I will if I must.”

“Oh, I am well aware, Geoffrey,” Reid agrees. “So where do we begin? I assume you possess more experience in the area of hunting Ekons than I do.”

“Don’t play coy with me. I know you aren’t a naive newborn any longer,” McCullum says. Then he sighs, “We go back to the scene. I want to see it with my own eyes.”

The scene is fragmented, so Reid first takes McCullum to the spot where the body was found. By the time they arrive, the hospital staff had already scrubbed the cobblestone, and there is barely a hint to be found by Reid’s heightened senses.

“Of course,” McCullum says, dryly. “I suppose it would have been too much to ask to have something to work with.”

“They could hardly leave a corpse at the hospital entrance,” Reid says. He gestures at the spot where the boy had been. “He was found here, without a drop of blood left in his body.”

“How would you know that?” McCullum asks, but he’s looking at the ground rather than Reid.

“A perk of my abilities.”

“I suppose it makes sense you’d know if something was a promising dinner.”

The rejoinder raises Reid’s hackles, but he doesn’t bother to engage. Instead, he continues, “The throat bore great injury—a wound you’d recognize. Moreover, he was dropped at the beginning of the evening, at just the moment your hounds were passing by.”

“You think it’s suspicious,” McCullum notes. He crouches down, squinting at the ground. “I’m getting nothing here. Where’s the body, then?”

“The mortuary, I suspect,” Reid answers.

McCullum’s shoulders tighten, perhaps recalling the last time he visited Pembroke’s mortuary or the embarrassment of losing a battle to Reid.

“Of course,” McCullum says. “Lead the way.”

It’s still novel, Reid thinks, to walk in front of Geoffrey. It still irks his senses, a warning that there’s danger stalking behind him, but wherever they stand now, he is pleased that they have settled into a cordial enough relationship that there’s a tenuous trust between them. They are not friends—and certainly not lovers—but neither does he need to worry about McCullum breaking into Pembroke during the daytime to kill him.

He starts to say something to that effect but changes his mind. “I don’t suppose your kind has any specialized tools for investigations of this nature?”

“My kind?” McCullum asks, scoffing. “That’s rich coming from a leech. But not exactly. We’ve studied your kind, so we know some of the patterns—but it’s a lot of footwork. Asking around. Piecing things together.”

“Ideally, I’d like to sort this out sooner rather than later,” Reid says, opening the door and holding it for McCullum. McCullum walks into the mortuary, and Reid notes that he does not hesitate to show his back to Reid these days either.

“You came to me, Reid,” McCullum reminds him.

“So I did.”

The young man’s body is still on a gurney with a sheet pulled over it hastily. It is an odd detail. Even assuming haste to remove it from view, Rakesh Chadana should be preparing the body—for someone unidentified, that would entail all the normal procedures plus additional ones to identify the body and report the incident to the police. But Chadana is nowhere to be seen.

“Rakesh?” he calls.

Only silence answers.

“Missing someone?” McCullum asks.

“Our undertaker,” Reid answers. “It’s unusual to leave a body out like this. More so under these circumstances.”

McCullum raises an eyebrow and looks around to take stock of the room again, as if the new information will provide some sort of revelation he couldn’t see before. If he notices anything, he doesn’t share it.

Once he seems satisfied, Reid takes the sheet and folds it down so the dead boy is bared to the chest.

He points to a spot in the wound and says, “You can see where the canine teeth entered; however, rather than simply drain the blood from that puncture wound, they rent inward, tearing the throat.”

“Fangs, you mean,” McCullum corrects, despite the fact that Reid knows full well that he has read more than one academic document on the subject of vampire anatomy. “Shredded. Not often you see a mess like this with leeches unless they’re mindless Skals or fighting each other. Or sometimes in the newborns before they realize what they are.”

“Indeed,” Reid says, though he’s honestly never given the topic any thought. He recalls his own fierce battles with his own kind, in which he sunk his canines into an undead neck. It was true the punctures wouldn’t be neat then, if only because the subject would pull away if they could. He refuses to think of Mary. Instead, he asks, “Notice anything else?”

McCullum peers at the wound longer but shrugs. Then he tugs at the sheet, pulling it down further.

“What are you doing?”

“Calm down, Reid,” McCullum answers, laughing. “Not everything is as obvious as a ravaged neck.”

He ends up taking the sheet down to the boy’s waist. This time, McCullum points at the body. “There.”

Reid looks. At first, he doesn’t notice anything, but as he shifts—and so the lighting shifts—and he sees what McCullum means.

“Bruising along his wrists.”

“Restraints,” McCullum says, agreeing.

“The poor boy,” Reid says. He notices McCullum giving him a look out of the corner of his eye. “You seem to forget, constantly, that I’m a doctor and a veteran of the war. I have the utmost respect for life—even if I, myself, am no longer technically living.”

They replace the sheet, and Reid looks around again. Chadana is still nowhere to be seen.

“It truly is strange that the undertaker isn’t here,” he repeats.

McCullum asks, “How strange?”

“Well, it’s standard protocol to notify him as soon as a body is sent to the morgue. He watches over the bodies, taking care of all the related preparations and notifications as necessary.”

“Such as informing the authorities?”

“Yes,” Reid answers. “Doctor Swansea said he would take care of notifying him, so I suppose one or the other was delayed.”

“Interesting,” McCullum says. He opens his mouth to say something further, brow furrowed thoughtfully, when they both hear a noise that stops them both in place. It is, as clear as can be, a woman’s scream in the chill night air.

“That sounded like it was coming from the hospital,” Reid says, already moving.

The distance from the mortuary to the hospital’s main doors is not far. They take the quickest route, cutting through the grounds and arrive to complete chaos in the lobby.

“Doctor Reid,” one of the new nurses says, clearly relieved. “Something terrible has happened. One of the nurses…”

She seems frozen, so Reid asks, voice calm but commanding, “Tell me what happened.”

The nurse’s composure breaks, and she sobs. “Oh, God. It’s like earlier. Nurse Branagan—she’s dead.”

“Where?”

“The nurses’ quarters.”

With that, Reid takes a brisk pace toward the nurses’ quarters, almost entirely forgetting McCullum. Immediately, it is clear that no amount of medical care will help Nurse Branagan. The scene is ominously like the first—Nurse Branagan on the floor, limbs askew, with her neck ruined. There is a smear of blood beside her, bright against the otherwise clean tile floor.

For the second time that night, Reid finds himself slammed against the wall before he realizes what is happening. McCullum’s hands are on him again, this time with real force.

“I thought you were smarter than this, leech,” McCullum spits into his face, accent coming out thickly. “I warned you I would put you down if need be.”

Reid pushes against him, trying to throw him off, and is surprised when McCullum doesn’t budge.

“Get off me, McCullum,” he snarls.

Reid has rarely felt this angry, and rationally, he knows the guilt is causing it. Pembroke is his home, but he was not here to protect these humans who work so hard every day. And, although flawed, he respected Nurse Branagan immensely.

McCullum does not hear. He bears down against Reid, pushing as much weight against him as he can. Reid senses why—McCullum is trying to hold him in place long enough to draw his sword.

“We are not going to brawl in the hospital,” Reid says, “just because you want me to be guilty.”

The sound of metal dragging against a scabbard is clear—and Reid can imagine how far the blade is drawn by the timing of the sound. One inch, two inches. He pushes McCullum again, using all the strength he can muster. McCullum skids across the room, shoulder landing hard against a hospital bed, which screeches protest as it slides across the floor.

“Listen to me,” Reid begins.

But McCullum is not listening. He launches himself at Reid again, except he has enough space to draw his sword free—and he does. Reid sidesteps the first swipe, narrowly enough that he feels the blade snag on his coat.

Reid lashes out to retaliate before McCullum recovers. With one hand, he strikes McCullum’s grip on the sword, loosening it so it clatters to the ground. At the same time, he uses his other hand and leg to upset McCullum’s balance. The maneuver works, driving them both to the floor. McCullum recovers enough that he doesn’t fall backward but instead somehow manages to wrestle Reid to the ground first, with McCullum pressing down on top of him.

McCullum raises a hand to strike Reid’s face, but Reid blocks with his forearm. They hold like that, each testing the other and neither making progress.

“McCullum,” Reid grits out. “If you’d think—”

But McCullum does waver. He leans forward and bites Reid’s arm. The thick fabric of his wool coat protects Reid’s skin from breaking—and he has the terrible realization that he doesn’t actually know how much vampiric blood is required to harm or change a human.

With a decisive movement, Reid twists into shadow momentarily, leaving McCullum straining against the floorboards, before he rematerializes at his back. He leans in, putting all of his weight into pinning McCullum with one sharp knee in the small of his back and both hands over McCullum’s wrists.

“Calm down, man!”

“I told you, Reid,” McCullum says, and even muffled into the floor he sounds furious. “I told you I wouldn’t think twice to end you.”

“You really think I did this.”

“Seems obvious, doesn’t it?” McCullum growls. He struggles again, a wild thrash under Reid’s hands.

“Use your head,” Reid says, impatient. “I’ve been with you all evening. Do you think I’m capable of being in two places at once?”

“You could’ve done it before you caught up with me,” McCullum argues, though he stops trying to free himself.

“I specifically brought you here. Why would I have done so if I knew about Nurse Branagan?”

McCullum stays silent, and Reid can practically sense him battling with his instinctual hatred for vampires against the logical argument.

“If I let you up, can we get to business? If anything, this makes it more urgent that we find whoever is doing this as soon as possible. If you’re going to be a hindrance, then you need to leave.”

He can feel McCullum exhale heavily beneath him, which must be constricted and uncomfortable in the press between Reid and the floor.

“Fine, Reid. Now, get off me.”

Reid almost moves off him but pushes down once more, causing McCullum to groan. “To be entirely clear, I won’t stand for violence inside Pembroke.”

“You’ve made your point.”

Sensing that is as close as he will get to an agreement, Reid stands and allows McCullum to do the same. He watches closely as McCullum retrieves his sword, but he sheathes it without incident.

“Can’t blame me for jumping to the obvious conclusion,” McCullum says. “Two drained bodies on your doorstep does not look good.”

Reid grimaces, “I am aware.”

He keeps an eye on McCullum but walks to Branagan’s body and hunches down. Another surge of guilt seizes him, seeing her lifeless on the floor. Her eyes are open, fearful and wide. He draws the pads of his fingers over her eyelids, closing them. When he looks up, McCullum is watching him. He ignores the look.

“Here,” he says, turning her chin so the neck is more visible. The wound opens further at the movement, gaping and wrong. “The same as the boy. Initial punctures followed by tearing.”

McCullum grits his teeth. “But to get all the way to this section of the hospital—whoever it was walked right past any number of people.”

The statement is true. The windows here are all locked, shut against the damp chill. The door leads to the main body of Pembroke.

“It would have to be an Ekon—someone who can blend in,” Reid surmises. “Which means that no one is safe here until we solve this.”

“Your security can’t do anything against an Ekon,” McCullum points out. “They don’t know what they’re dealing with and are as likely to end up dead—as helpless as this nurse.”

The point does not sit well with Reid. Even if he were to stay at Pembroke to protect its inhabitants, it would be a difficult-to-impossible task. The hospital is too large for one Ekon to guard—and he must return to his rooms by the time the sun rises.

McCullum seems to read his thoughts. He seems as displeased with the idea as Reid. “I can station a few of my Guards.”

“No,” Reid says, automatically.

“Do you have an alternative?”

Chadana arrives shortly after, looking pensive. “It’s not often I need to deal with one of our own these days,” he says.

“And two dead tonight at that,” Reid sympathizes.

“Two?” Chadana asks.

“The boy who was found earlier today.”

Chadana hums. “That's news to me, but I will tend to them both. Thank you, Doctor Reid.”

Reid mulls that over while he helps Chadana get Branagan onto a gurney to take her last trip to the morgue.

He turns to McCullum, mind made up, “We might need your help, assuming you can keep your war dogs in line. But we need to speak with Doctor Swansea first.”

As they walk, McCullum clears his throat, a manufactured noise. Once he has Reid’s attention, he says, “Sorry about back there. I know you aren’t what I thought you were when we met. But I have a hard time with it.” He pulls at his scarf, with uncharacteristically nervous hands. “As far as I can tell, you’re just about the only leech in the world who bothered to keep his soul.”

It is quite possibly the most earnest thing he has ever heard from McCullum in regards to himself. He barely knows how to respond.

“I doubt I’m the only one,” Reid says finally, thinking of Elizabeth. “Nor do I know anything about the soul—but apology accepted.”

They arrive at Swansea’s office. As if to prove his apology, McCullum opens the door for Reid to enter first.

“Jonathan!” Swansea exclaims, “You gave me a fright. I half thought that you were one of those Priwen louts coming for my head after realizing my nature.”

Reid sighs, and McCullum steps into the room.

“Oh,” Swansea says.

“What were you saying about your nature?” asks McCullum, too sweetly. “I’m asking as a lout.”

Reid reaches out, gripping McCullum’s shoulder. Swansea’s error is a setback they cannot afford. McCullum pulls against his grasp but does not try to break it.

“I might’ve known one leech breeds another,” McCullum accuses, glaring at Swansea. “You were always sniffing after them to begin with, probably begged for it.”

Swansea seems rendered wordless by his accidental revelation and the vitriol aimed at him. His mouth moves, soundless.

McCullum turns on Reid. “Maybe your hands are innocent of the boy or the nurse—but can you say the same for your friend? Do you know how many others he’s drained? With complete certainty?”

It isn’t something Reid talks about with Swansea. He tried, when he was forced to turn him, but Swansea’s answers were vague and chastising. He could only hope that Swansea acted with the morality and ethics one would expect of a doctor. But Reid knows the hunger that plagues his own steps, and the thought had needled its way into his brain more than once: what was Swansea capable of?

But he remembers Swansea’s shock and offense at the idea he might have been the one to harm the boy. If nothing else, Reid thinks he can trust his gut on reading Swansea’s reaction.

He weighs his words carefully, knowing full well that McCullum is a tinderbox ready to ignite. “I trust Edgar implicitly. Pembroke is more his home than mine.”

McCullum’s lip curls into an ugly sneer. “This place is even more cursed than I thought.”

Swansea recovers enough to try to regain charge of the situation. “Yes, my status does not signify. Both Doctor Reid and I want what’s best for the hospital.”

“Then you’ll love to hear our idea,” McCullum says. “It seems as if you are in need of protection—the Guard of Priwen is all too happy to provide.”

“I will not have a bunch of brutes loitering in the Pembroke lobby!”

It takes nearly half an hour of arguing over the particulars, but in the end, they negotiate an answer: half a dozen guards, disguised as patients and distributed in pairs throughout the two main wings of the hospital’s ground floor. They would stay starting the following night and remain until the issue was brought to a satisfactory conclusion.

For the small remainder of this night, though, the hospital would have to make do with Reid and McCullum watching over it.

As soon as they agree, McCullum walks to the door. “I’ll be outside, then. There’s two leeches too many in this room for my taste.”

Swansea sighs as the door snaps shut, pinching the top of his nose under his spectacles. “How did we end up in such a mess, Jonathan?”

“Perhaps more discretion might have been wise,” Reid says.

“I hardly could have been expected to know you were bringing him here.”

Reid waves the matter aside. “What’s done is done. And we have a larger problem.”

“Losing Nurse Branagan is unfortunate,” Swansea agrees.

“More than unfortunate,” Reid corrects. “Two deaths in a single night means this cannot be mere coincidence—as unlikely as it seemed in the first place.”

Swansea worries his lip. “You think this will keep happening.”

“Yes, I do.”

Swansea sighs, loud in the quiet of the room. He slumps as if the energy has gone out of him all at once. He says, sounding as defeated as he looks, “I should have done more to protect the hospital.”

“You’re doing all you can, Edgar,” Reid answers. Then he remembers, “Oh, and I told Rakesh about the boy. It would seem no one informed him.”

Swansea smiles, thinly. “I must have forgotten with all the furor. Thank you for taking care of that.”

The conversation seems to have come to a natural conclusion, so Reid turns to leave.

“Jonathan?” Swansea says, before his hand lands on the door knob. “Please take care around Priwen. I am not fond of the idea of them here.”

“Nor am I,” Reid agrees.

“It’s nearly daybreak,” McCullum says as soon as Reid steps out of Swansea’s office. “I’ve already sent word to Priwen to send six of my best for tonight. But—considering the light—I think we won’t have much more to do tonight.”

Exhaustion hits Reid in a way it rarely has since he became a vampire. He feels suddenly, pathetically grateful that McCullum isn’t making more of a scene about Swansea’s revelation.

As if McCullum senses the thought, he adds, “I don’t need to tell you that my promise to destroy any vampire involved in this extends to the good Doctor Swansea as well as yourself.”

Reid laughs, and even that sounds tired. “I know, Geoffrey. I couldn’t imagine otherwise.”

McCullum hides a yawn behind his arm, burying it into the crook of his elbow, as if it will obscure his own exhaustion better than a hand.

“If it’s almost morning, we might as well call it a night,” Reid says. He doesn’t mention that he wants to be well-ensconced in his own room before sunlight filters into the hospital.

McCullum nods. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in a week—likely due to crashing from the adrenaline from this exceptionally long night. He looks at Reid, managing to be sharp-eyed despite how clearly tired he is, and he says, “Well, Reid, looks like you’re putting me up for the night.”

“Of course,” Reid agrees, easily. “There are spare cots in the unused staff rooms.”

McCullum is already shaking his head. “I’m sticking right at your side until all this is over.”

“Keeping an eye on me,” Reid corrects.

McCullum shrugs. “Something tells me Swansea isn’t going to venture far from you, so it’s economical.”

“Well, then,” Reid says, “I’ll show you my rooms.”

The hallways are starting to lighten with the rising sun by the time they make it to Reid’s suite. There’s an awkwardness to inviting this particular man into the sanctuary he’s carved for himself on the second floor of Pembroke. He forcefully sets the unease aside and lets McCullum in, closing the door behind them both. McCullum immediately makes a circuit of the room, scrutinizing its contents without shame.

Finally, he stops at Reid’s small work desk. “For some reason, you’re more of a doctor than I imagined. Do you have a single book that’s not about blood transfusions?”

“I am respected in my field.” Reid coughs, embarrassed. He tries to deflect with levity, “Much like yourself.”

McCullum doesn’t disagree, though, and seems to take the statement in more seriousness than it was intended. He takes one more look around the room.

“Don’t mind me. I’ll take the floor. I think I’m a bit more used to discomfort than you. And don’t get any ideas about leaving without me—I’m a light sleeper.”

Reid doesn’t know what to be more offended by—the implication that he would be put out of his own bed, that he isn’t used to discomfort after his military service, or that he would try to dupe McCullum by sneaking out of his own room. There is also something lurking there at the assumption that they cannot simply share the bed, as if that would be the most outlandish suggestion of them all.

But McCullum slides down to sit at the head of Reid’s bed, back to the wall. His chin drops to his chest. Reid raises an eyebrow at him, and McCullum grimaces, sheepishly.

“You caught me after a three-night hunt. I haven’t gotten more than a wink of sleep in two days.”

It’s enough to awaken Reid’s sympathy. He offers, “You should take the bed, Geoffrey. I barely need to sleep anyway—and I am not nearly as delicate as you seem to believe.”

He almost works up the nerve to suggest they share, but McCullum speaks first.

“I’m fine where I am,” McCullum insists, stubborn to the end.

Reid mentally washes his hands of the disagreement. He readies the room, dousing the lamp he keeps going, and lies down on his bed. He passes his topmost blanket down to McCullum, which he—surprisingly—accepts.

The room is utterly dark by design, which means it is simple for Reid to sense every mortal in the hospital. On ordinary days, those hearts lull him to sleep. But louder than those distant hearts, he can hear the various workings of McCullum’s body—the steady breaths, and the steadier heartbeat. They have never spent so long sharing space without a fight, but now they are an arm’s reach from each other in relative peace.

It should feel strange to be in this proximity—and it does. As evidenced by this night alone, they are only ever a hair’s breadth from fighting even now after the Skal plague has ended. They have shared intimacies on one occasion. But Reid does not feel at ease.

Reid looks at his ceiling in the dark, letting his thoughts fall to the wayside, and listens to McCullum’s breaths deepen as he himself falls into sleep.

Reid wakes all at once. There was nothing to cause it, except that he can feel night has fallen. He shifts, whispering, “Geoffrey, are you awake?”

“Aye,” McCullum says, voice bleary from sleep. “Been up a minute or so.”

Reid hears McCullum pull himself to his feet, and a long sound punctuated by crackling that must indicate a deep stretch after sleeping on the floor. He props himself on an elbow, meaning to get up, but he feels the mattress depress as McCullum steps towards him and places a hand down next to Reid. The move causes Reid to go still, the hairs on the nape of his neck tingling.

“Reid,” McCullum says, voice low. Reid does not know if it’s the dark room that makes McCullum sound like that. After a heavy pause, he continues, “You’re different. I don’t know why—and I should be called an idiot for thinking it—but I can’t explain what I’m doing if it isn’t true.” He repeats himself, “You’re different.”

“Not so different from most men,” Reid disagrees out of habit, though he privately believes he’s done several things to distinguish himself in his career and elsewhere.

McCullum laughs, and Reid can feel the vibrations of it through the mattress. Reid takes a risk and reaches out, wrapping his fingers around McCullum’s wrist lightly. McCullum stops laughing. And he doesn’t pull away.

Reid doesn’t know what to do now, but he can feel the tense flexing of the tendons in McCullum’s arm which means he is working to stay still. He supposes it feels somewhat like having the figurative tiger by the tail.

There’s a sound, and Reid can make out the movement of McCullum wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. He’s about to say something, and Reid cannot imagine what it might be, though the tingling at the nape of his neck has spread, running down his spine now.

Whatever McCullum was going to say is interrupted by a distinct noise—a jostled door knob. More alarming, it’s the door that no one but Reid himself uses, which leads directly to the outside of the hospital. Reid lets McCullum go, jumping out of bed to face the door. He can feel McCullum readying himself behind him.

The door opens with a light creak, and standing in the entryway is a man Reid has never seen before in his life.

“Doctor Reid,” the man says, eyes narrowed. “I see that I came at a bad time—I didn’t expect you to have a visitor.”

He can feel McCullum’s gaze swing from the man to Reid at the use of his name.

“Who are you?” Reid asks. It’s then he notices that he cannot detect anything alive about this man—he is as dead inside as Reid himself; an Ekon. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to meet the esteemed Doctor Reid,” he answers, almost childlike in how clearly envious he sounds. “Doctor Swansea never stopped yapping about you. Figured you had to be an interesting fellow.”

“Who are you?” Reid repeats.

“Eric.”

“How do you know Doctor Swansea?”

“Doctor Swansea lied to me,” Eric spits. He eyes McCullum, who is inching toward him. “Don’t you get near me.”

Reid suspects he and McCullum have come to the same conclusion.

Reid tries to calm the situation, trying to make his voice soothing. “You clearly want someone to listen—tell me what’s happened. Were you involved with the nurse who died earlier? Or the man found at the entrance?”

“I did them both,” Eric says. “Everything was so painful and I was so hungry. I didn’t mean to do that to the man, at first. But since it was done, I tried to make it mean something.”

“You wanted to draw the Guard to Doctor Swansea,” Reid surmises.

“Yeah, he warned me about them. Told me how to spot them, too. Thought it was too fitting to use that against him. But it didn’t work. They never came—and I was still so hungry.”

Reid doesn’t correct the assumption. He says, “That’s why you killed Nurse Branagan.”

“I had to eat. Doctor Swansea wasn’t giving me hardly anything,” Eric says. “That was when I knew I had to destroy anyone who was close to him.”

“Which is why you sought me out next.”

“You’re his sire, he said. I wanted to see what that meant,” Eric says. “He swindled me out of my life—I thought maybe you did the same to him as he did to me—but no. You’re here with a mortal, totally unbothered by him or me or anyone.”

“Eric,” Reid says, but he is interrupted.

“Don’t call me that! Don’t try to be chummy,” his eyes turn red. He shows now-long claws and sharp canines. “I promised I’d destroy everything that Swansea touched to make up for what he did to me. You can be next.”

Reid has just enough time to get his hands up to hold off Eric’s claws. As it is, they get close enough that the tips dig through his wool coat, prickling like needles, before Reid pushes him further back.

He thanks his luck that McCullum is already on the move, drawing his sword. The Ekon senses the shift, and flails against Reid, succeeding in turning himself about to face McCullum’s attack. He throws himself low and wide, avoiding the blade. McCullum is hampered by the close quarters—there’s little room to maneuver a sword with the obstructing furniture. Eric, however, is unencumbered. He knocks into the desk and leaves it wobbling as he uses it to toss himself back towards McCullum.

The Ekon’s sharp claws lash out at McCullum, and Reid can smell more than see the result—fresh blood.

McCullum grunts at the wound but doesn’t slow down. He recovers with his sword in hand, and his blade finds its mark—scoring a clean jab into the Ekon’s midsection. But the Ekon ignores the wound. He throws himself back again, eyes darting around the room, and then turns tail to flee. He flings open the door that overhangs the exterior of the hospital and jumps.

Reid is the first to go after him, dropping to the ground and sprinting before he’s oriented himself. The Ekon is ahead of him, looking around as if bewildered. Reid runs full-force into him.

They slam into the side of the hospital together, thankfully out of sight of the main thoroughfare. McCullum is still some distance behind. Reid turns to look for him, but the Ekon drags razor-sharp claws along his hand, slipping free from his grasp. Reid is running after him again before he registers the pain.

Reid falls further behind now, the Ekon slipping out of sight with each corner he rounds—but Reid can smell him, thanks to the damage he did to McCullum. The splatter of mortal blood is as good as a trail for a bloodhound.

Reid stops to let McCullum catch up. He’s gripping his side and grimacing but seems to be moving well enough. Reid catches him by the elbow of his coat, pulling them both in the direction the Ekon went.

“This way,” he says.

“Did you see where the bastard went?”

Reid grits his teeth rather than tell McCullum that he can scent McCullum’s own blood, and instead shakes his head. “Quiet, we don’t need to be surprised again tonight.”

The trail leads to a small basement window at the farthest flung edge of the hospital. Reid cannot remember taking much notice of it previously, as tucked away as it is and positioned at the seam of two dilapidated walls.

Reid inspects the window, finding a smear of blood at its edge. He can’t help but notice it matches the scent of McCullum. He lifts the window with a finger, pulling it up with a quiet squeaking noise.

“Would you like to go first?”

McCullum grimaces, pulling his hand off his side to look at how much blood has accumulated. He wipes his stained fingers on the lapels of his coat. “Oh no, Doctor. Feel free.”

Reid shrugs and stoops to inspect the window. The window swings upwards and is quite narrow, so the fit is tight. It requires putting his feet in first and wiggling down until he can slip through, landing on a concrete floor below. He watches as McCullum does the same, his boots appearing in the opening. He struggles a bit, not quite intuiting how to negotiate his body—which is not much different in size from Reid’s own—and slides through. He grunts as his side scrapes along the ledge. Reid thinks about offering a hand but decides to wait. Finally, McCullum comes through with a clatter, landing heavily on one knee on the floor.

He offers a hand, and McCullum takes it firmly, pulling himself up.

“Don’t say anything,” he says, hushed. “Which way?”

Reid looks around them. They are in the middle of a hall with few doors and fewer lights. Their options are to turn left or to turn right.

There’s a clattering of metal against metal to the right.

McCullum says, “Well, then.” And he follows the noise.

As they walk, they do not speak. They seem to agree that they will approach this hunt without giving themselves away. The slight squeaking of McCullum’s boots against the aged tile sounds loud in the quiet.

The hallway becomes less dim as they continue and finally opens up to a large room. On the far side of the room is a line of three cell-like smaller rooms, with heavy doors overlaying them punctuated only with one small window and a slot for passing items through. The room itself has several lights and seems well-kept. At the center is a steel table. Along the closer wall a desk, a cart, and other peripheral furniture. Other than those things, there is no sign of life.

McCullum catches his eye with a gesture. He then points to the three cells. One door is swinging, gently, inwards. McCullum begins walking towards it, taking care with each step. Reid moves to the other side, trying to see inside.

The heavy door explodes outward, nearly knocking McCullum back.

“Leave me alone!” the Ekon screams, throwing himself at Reid.

For the second time that night, he blocks Eric’s attack.

“Stop this!” he tries, but Eric doesn’t seem to hear. Knowing as much as he does, he feels pity for him, and he knows it affects how he responds. He would rather not destroy this pitiful creature, which Swansea apparently made.

It’s a dangerous line of thinking because he feels a sharp tooth graze along his throat. Reid shakes himself, giving all of his strength to pushing the Ekon back. Eric skids backward. McCullum takes one neat step into his path, grabs his coat, and raises his crossbow to the center of his back. Reid can’t see it, but he hears the thunking sound of the bolt being released and sinking into flesh.

Then Eric drops to the ground, eyes unseeing.

McCullum grunts, “Are you injured, Reid?”

Reid can feel the slide of one thick drop of blood down his neck. Otherwise, he’s unharmed.

“I’m fine,” he answers. “Are you alright?”

McCullum nods in answer, already distracted by their task at hand.

With the Ekon dead, Reid turns his attention to the surrounding room. He recognizes it immediately as a laboratory—bunsen burners, beakers, stacks of books and charts. McCullum prods at a cart laden with a surgical tray and several empty hypodermic needles.

“Someone’s been busy,” he says. McCullum runs a finger along the handle of the cart. “Looks like this place should be abandoned, but there’s not a speck of dust. Someone’s been here recently—and often.”

“Yes,” Reid answers, distractedly, “but whom?”

Reid peers into one of the cells. He has not worked at a hospital that kept a ward for the mentally ill for some time, but he recognizes the purpose of the claustrophobic room by the padded walls. There is one flat bed with medical restraints at four points.

“Look at this,” McCullum calls, offering a clipboard.

Reid walks over and takes it, scanning the information. Medical measurements for one subject. He picks up another and reads the same measurements for a different subject. The tests start with normal readings—that average body temperature, blood pressure, and similar data. Then, each chart shifts dramatically. As if the subject were no longer alive and yet still present for the experiment. There are neat rows indicating when the subject was provided with pints of blood meant for transfusion.

And most damning of all: the topmost clipboard is labeled “Subject #03: Eric Walker.”

An ominous feeling begins to build in Reid’s chest.

“I’m no doctor but I have an idea of what all this means,” McCullum says. “And who it points to.”

McCullum doesn’t say anything further, but Reid follows his gaze. His eyes land on a pair of spectacles, laid atop a dense page of handwritten notes. They are both, without question, Swansea’s.

For a moment, brief and unforgivable, Reid considers not confirming the fact to Mccullum. But he remembers the warmth of his wrist under Reid’s hand and collects himself.

“You are correct, Geoffrey. I think we need to speak with Doctor Swansea.”

“First,” Reid says, stopping McCullum with a hand on his elbow. “Let me see your wound.”

“It’s nothing more than a scratch,” McCullum grouses. Reid can’t help but notice that he goes placid and pliant, offering up his side for inspection.

Reid smothers the smile that comes at that realization. He kneels in front of McCullum, turning his body so the injury is angled more toward the light. McCullum’s shirt is in ribbons—the Ekon’s claws had left ragged remnants. Along the length of McCullum’s side are four long scratches that seem to begin abruptly. In a stroke of luck, McCullum’s heavy coat blocked the worst of it. The resulting cuts themselves aren’t more than scratches—ugly and bleeding, but not serious.

He voices the thought without meaning to. “You’re fortunate. These could have been far worse.”

To his surprise, McCullum reaches up with the hand from his uninjured side and slides his fingertips into Reid’s short hair. He curls them, pulling lightly at the roots. Reid is shocked to stillness. The feeling from earlier comes back in force, burning up his spine. He feels electric with it—a live wire when he thought all the electricity had burnt out of him forever. He might make a sound low in his throat, but it’s impossible to tell with how his ears drum to the beat of McCullum’s pulse.

“You sound as if you care,” McCullum says, quietly.

“Should I not? For our many disagreements, I—” Reid pauses, uncertain, “have come to respect you, Geoffrey.” McCullum watches him, not saying anything, and Reid plunges further, “More than that, really, as you well know—even if you choose to ignore it.”

McCullum’s face colors, clearly remembering the moment Reid is referencing. He withdraws his hand, looking at it like he couldn’t believe what it had done.

Reid clears his throat, trying to call up the tone he uses with all patients. He says, and it comes out entirely wrong, nothing more than a murmur, “You should let me wrap this afterward.” He prods next to the damaged skin gently to make his point clear.

McCullum winces. He is not looking at Reid anymore. “Perhaps. After we take care of Swansea.”

“You mean after we talk to Edgar.”

“I’m not blind—you think he’s behind this as much as I do.”

Reid sighs. He does think that, but he is equally certain that such a conclusion would mean a very different thing for himself and McCullum. “I think he might know more than he’s said so far, but I’d like to give him the opportunity to tell me himself. He is,” Reid pauses and hates himself for it, “a friend.”

McCullum looks down at Reid, inscrutable. Then he pulls back, drawing his coat across the wound. “We’re measured by the company we keep, Doctor Reid.”

Reid stands, feeling the distance between them grow again. He wants to ask McCullum what that logic looks like when turned upon himself. He has made an exception for one vampire already—and the war dogs he calls Guards are no better. Reid bites his tongue against voicing the thought.

“Why did you turn him?” McCullum asks, like he can't help it.

Reid grimaces. “You and your Guards left me no other option. I wasn’t about to let him die.”

McCullum looks away, and the conversation ends.

They make their way up to Swansea’s office again. This time, they are both worse for wear. As they pass through the lobby, McCullum sees one of his men, already in place. He diverts over to the Guard, leaving Reid behind. Both whisper fiercely for a moment. McCullum says something that has the ring of finality before rejoining Reid.

“Preparing to siege the castle?” Reid asks, wondering if he should be concerned.

“The boys are riled, considering what they saw. You can imagine what course of action they’d prefer,” McCullum answers. He is stoic, giving nothing away. He adds, a concession, “I’m playing it your way for now.”

The ‘but’ remains unspoken, which is the best Reid figures he can hope for.

They make their way up the stairs and stand outside the doors to Swansea’s office.

Reid looks at McCullum, and he knows from the sharpness of his eyes and the tight clench of his jaw that he’s ready for a fight. He can practically feel the tension wired through his legs and spine, the eagerness in his hand waiting for his crossbow or blade.

Reid is all too aware that one shout will bring half a dozen Guards on his head.

“We’re here to talk,” Reid reminds McCullum.

“I know,” McCullum acknowledges.

“Please, McCullum. I’m confident that Edgar has some sort of explanation for all of this.”

“We shall see,” McCullum says, darkly.

Reid doesn’t bother to knock. He opens the door and walks in. Swansea is more anxious than the last time they spoke. He is clearly midway through pacing a strip down the side of his office. He looks at them owlishly over his spectacles.

“Good evening, Jonathan,” Swansea says. Belatedly, he adds, “McCullum.” He shifts over towards his desk. “You’re rather early tonight. Checking in?” Swansea asks. His gaze drops to the blood staining McCullum’s coat and side. “Or has something happened?”

“Eric Walker,” Reid says, ignoring Swansea’s greeting. “The mystery is solved—he’s the perpetrator of our two murders.”

Swansea makes a noise, pitched high like a question. “Did you manage to apprehend him?”

“No,” McCullum answers for Reid. “I did him the favor of putting a bolt right through his undead heart.”

Swansea blanches. He grips his desk with a shaking hand. “Well, if he’s done what you say, that is for the best. Is there any indication why he did what he did?”

Reid makes a flat motion with his hand. He says, “Edgar, we know you knew him.”

“Tell us the truth, doctor,” McCullum snarls. “Doctor Reid here seems to think you’re still on the side of the light. Maybe once you were a healer, but I see right through you.”

Swansea sits at his desk, slumping over it. He buries his face in his hands for a minute. Then he looks up at Reid, ignoring McCullum, and offers both palms out in supplication.

“Allow me to explain, Jonathan. I admit I knew Mister Walker, yes,” Swansea begins. “He was a drifting young man, so I offered payment in return for his participation in medical studies. He agreed.”

“Is that why you had cages down there in your dungeon?” McCullum asks.

Swansea clears his throat. “The rooms were fashioned originally for patients who were not mentally or morally safe to place around others. When we consolidated the hospital, they fell out of use—which made them the only location on the grounds that made sense to work on more sensitive subjects. I couldn’t have the nurses or other doctors interfering with things they might not understand.”

“Why do it at all?” Reid asks, though he already knows the answer.

“Because I wanted to find out more about us! We are gifted with immortality—what secrets does our blood hide? What cures or supplements might we offer to the general population? The possibilities are boundless.”

“Was Walker a leech when you approached him?” McCullum interrupts. This, too, Reid knows the answer to, and his stomach sinks.

Swansea draws his shoulders up, taking on the posture of a beleaguered hospital administrator. “No, he was not; however, he consented to all medical matters and changes that occurred. I have his agreement documented.”

“He could not know what he was doing,” Reid says, and it comes out as an indictment. He lets the words lay between them, bare and accusing.

“It was a legitimate medical study, Jonathan! There is no frame of reference in the mortal sphere for this—but there is so much progress to be made with our unique insight. You of all people should see that,” Swansea yells, sputtering. “I gained the full consent of anyone involved, explained the risks…”

“And why then did Mister Walker kill Nurse Branagan? And that boy?” Reid asks. “He was seeking revenge against you.”

“I admit I misjudged Mister Walker,” Swansea says, and has the grace to look abashed. “He was becoming more erratic. I should have told you when he went missing several nights ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?” Reid asks, sharply. “When he escaped, if nothing else. You put every soul here in danger. First, with your experiments and, second, with your silence.”

Swansea answers, “I thought it would work itself out. He had nothing before, and I gave him something more than his mortal existence. He was my progeny. I was certain he’d come to understand what that meant with time.”

There are still too many pieces of information missing. Reid sighs, “Why did you not tell Mister Chadana about the first body?”

“I did not want more trouble than we already had—we were already under Priwen’s scrutiny, we did not need the city authorities on top of it,” Swansea huffs. “For a matter that is beyond mortal understanding.”

“I’ve heard enough,” McCullum growls.

McCullum lunges forward. Reid has enough presence of mind to throw out his hand, holding him back with the flat of his palm. McCullum allows himself to be stopped, but Reid can feel his warm chest heave with tangible rage.

“No,” Reid commands. “No more death today.”

“Thank you, Jonathan—” Swansea starts.

Reid keeps speaking, overriding whatever Swansea is about to say. “But I’m sorry, Edgar, you are no longer welcome to stay at the hospital.”

“It is my hospital! You have no authority to cast me out.”

“That might be so. But you owe the people here more than you are capable of giving right now,” Reid says. “Moreover, if you elect to stay, I won’t stand between you and Priwen.”

“They’ll kill me, Jonathan.”

“Aye,” McCullum agrees. Reid doesn’t answer.

“Alright,” Swansea says, bitterly, “I suppose you’ll have it your way. I never imagined I would one day be usurped by my newest doctor—Pembroke is under your care.”

Swansea is unhappy when McCullum makes it clear that the word of a vampire alone will not be enough for his purposes. He watches as Reid and Swansea discuss the technical points of making certain Pembroke continues without interruption after Swansea’s departure.

After every administrative matter is dealt with, Swansea asks, “Are you happy now?”

“Not yet. I plan to personally walk you to the train station and see you on a train headed far from London,” McCullum had said. “And if ever—and I mean ever—I see your face in the city again, I’ll set every resource at my disposal against you.”

Swansea gives McCullum the hardest look Reid has ever seen him wear. “I will long outlive you, McCullum. One day, your very existence will seem no more than a speck in time to me.”

“That may be,” McCullum agrees. “But for the duration of my life, you can be sure you’re in my sights.”

The trip to the train station is quiet. Reid feels inexplicably guilty for how lost Swansea looks—and for McCullum’s clear irritation at having allowed Swansea to live as an exception for Reid’s sake. No one at all is pleased with the outcome tonight.

They all stand on the train platform, which is desolate at this time of night. They are, as far as Reid can tell, the only three souls there. The terminal would usually be bustling with people, traveling for work or leisure, so perhaps that is what makes the scene feel so melancholy. But with everything that has happened since Reid’s own first night returning to London, in which he committed a sin greater than Swansea’s, it feels like an uneven end to their shared chapter.

“Where will you go?” he asks.

“I have an old family home in Bath,” Swansea says. “I plan to stay there and think things over.”

Reid claps a hand on Swansea’s shoulder. “I hope you do. Think things over, that is.”

“No need to patronize me, Jonathan,” Swansea huffs, and slips away from Reid’s touch. “I still do not believe I’m wrong in trying to use my nature for the betterment of medical science. But I can at least see that I made some errors of judgment.”

Reid does not want to dig into that argument. Instead, he says, “You were my first friend and ally when I returned to London, Edgar. I hope we meet again.”

The last train of the night arrives, and Swansea boards with a single briefcase. He doesn’t look back at McCullum or Reid as the train disappears down the tracks.

McCullum exhales as soon as the train is out of sight. “What an awful bloody night.”

Reid snorts. “Indeed.”

Reid makes an ‘after you’ gesture at one of the iron and wood benches that line the train station. McCullum rolls his eyes but takes a seat. Reid sits next to him, close enough to sense the beating of his heart.

They have another few hours before sunrise, so neither seems to be in a hurry to speak.

Eventually, McCullum says, “I shouldn’t have let him go. He’ll hurt people wherever he ends up.”

“You can’t know that,” Reid argues. “Edgar made mistakes, but he is a good man.”

McCullum gives him a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. “He is no longer that. He’s responsible for at least three deaths.”

Reid remembers the clipboard marked ‘#03,’ but he does not correct McCullum.

“You can’t be this naive forever, Reid,” McCullum says with a sigh. “I’ve learned a lot in my time knowing you, and I’ve come to the conclusion that not all monsters are monstrous—but Swansea is and you need to see it. He can hide behind that nervous demeanor and quiver all he likes, but every instinct I’ve built up through my years of experience tells me he won’t come back from this. He’ll get worse.”

“I choose to believe that we Ekon, like men, can commit an evil action without succumbing to evil forever,” Reid says. “You know well my hands are not entirely clean.”

“You would, of course,” McCullum says, chuckling humorlessly. “The real question is why I’m here. You ask me to let him go and I—inexplicably—did exactly that despite knowing him for what he is.” He runs a hand through his hair. “My life was certainly easier before you turned up, Reid.”

“Would you prefer I have gotten on the train with Doctor Swansea?”

McCullum looks out across the quiet train tracks, and Reid watches him. McCullum sits unmoving, eyes fixed on something in the dark. Without looking at Reid, he reaches out, gripping his upper arm and squeezing firmly. He holds his hand there as he readies himself.

Eventually, he says, “No. I cannot believe in my heart that London would be a better place for lacking Jonathan Reid.” Then he adds, "Nor would I personally wish it."

With that, McCullum stands, not once looking at Reid again, and begins to make his way down the platform to the exit. Reid listens to him go more than he watches. He decides to enjoy the silence for a few more minutes. Then, he will return to the hospital and begin setting everything to rights.