Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Step 1: Identify The Threat

Two things were true about Scott Goldsmith. Firstly, he had been around a long, long time. And secondly, he was not any sort of warrior. Obviously not. What a revolting thought. Scott was not the sort to fight his own battles. But the world was a hungry, violent place, usually more so the further back you went in its history, and yet from each era Scott had emerged victorious, holding tightly onto power with his perfectly manicured hands.

So how did he do it? An elder vampire though he might be now, there had been a time when he was young, weak, and stupid. Always he grew stronger, and so it was expected that with each month that passed, he felt that way about the version of himself who had lived the month prior. Scott survived and flourished–always–because even at his worst, he understood power and how to keep it.

Scott Goldsmith was a terrifying, undefeatable, infallible elder vampire, and so could not remember the last time he’d felt fear. Fear was a thing of shaking hands and rash decisions, a thing for lost, lonely boys with beautiful eyes. To show fear was to show weakness, and Scott was not weak. What Scott experienced now was then not fear, but a gut feeling, instincts honed from years of victories. It was the skin that rose on his back when he identified a threat.

“Drift and Shelby weren’t particularly happy with me,” Owen said.

He walked ahead of Scott, effortlessly graceful in how he navigated broken stone and splintered scaffolding. The water rushed below, a distant background music for their conversation. Owen was the kind of vampire who liked to get his hands dirty. He was a fighter, a rabid dog—not a lord, not a ruler—but that didn't mean he didn’t understand power in his own base way. Scott had encountered vampires like him before and so knew to be cautious. Owen was the sort who could smell weakness, even off his undead peers.

“No…” Scott agreed, his surprise perfectly concealed. “They didn’t mention it was you, though. They only mentioned Pyro.”

Scott was aloof, unbothered. He matched his demeanour to Owen’s. For all the emotion they showed, they might have been discussing the weather. To Owen there had been no loss, had been no betrayal, and so it was no different for Scott. There would be time later to examine the splinter of emotion lodged beneath his skin. Time healed all wounds, and so Scott’s concern was for his own continued existence, as it always was.

He’d noticed the presence minutes ago: the imperceptible brush of feet on stone, the unique scent of blood beneath flesh that Scott was intimately familiar with, as only a sire could be. Pyro stalked them, silent and unannounced.

“I see–”

Scott interrupted Owen’s response. The disrespect Pyro showed, believing he could hide from his maker, from his better, had to be undermined.

“I’m assuming that’s Pyro who’s invisible following us?” Scott asked, perfectly unbothered. It wasn’t really a question.

Anger, too, was a thing born of weakness. Pyro was beneath his notice, beneath even his most base emotions, and so Scott was not angry.

“Indeed…” Pyro appeared behind him.

He did not grovel. He did not simper. Somehow, beneath Scott’s nose, Pyro had changed. As Pyro’s fear receded, it revealed the truth of the vampire Scott had created, and he was the most dangerous sort. Perhaps Scott had not learned from his mistakes after all.

“You have really good ears,” Owen noted.

Scott stood alone on the bridge that led to his castle, Owen on one side and Pyro on the other. There was a camaraderie between the two that took Scott by surprise. Last he’d checked, Owen hated and distrusted Pyro, wanted him dead even. That was how Scott had liked it, but at some point he’d lost control of the situation. Scott Goldsmith, the all-powerful elder vampire, should not feel surrounded mere steps from his own front door.

“Well, you tend to have a sense for your fledglings,” Scott said, a reminder to Pyro how easily he’d ended his previous life.

“So anyways…” Owen returned immediately to the topic at hand. Was that a trace of vindication that Scott heard? A hint of smugness? “Was it that I held the stake and you hammered it in? Or the other way around?”

“I believe I held the stake and you hammered it in,” Pyro said. His smugness was less concealed. He was too new to the games of power played between immortales. He had not yet learned to hide his hand.

Owen held the door open for him, and Scott stepped through with a smile. He was all charm, all confidence, because the dirty truth was that those were the strongest weapons Scott had. While for vampires, power did increase with age, such gains were not infinite, and Scott Goldsmith was not a warrior. Owen was less than a fifth his age, but at 200 years old he was no fledgling, and Owen had violence in his blood. It was all he was; living not to enjoy infinite life as Scott did, he persisted only to destroy.

Scott needed Owen to believe he was all-powerful because if he did not, there was no way to know what the other vampire might do. When their true faces had been revealed to one another, Owen had stepped back and ceded their prey to his elder. Since then, Scott had believed he had him under control. Scott had been wrong, but he lived and he learned. If Owen and Pyro could go behind his back and murder Avid, what was to stop them from turning on him next? They had a taste of power now, and so there was no going back.

There had been other vampires in other centuries who had challenged him, and barring one notable exception, each time Scott had emerged victorious, often without dirtying a nail. He could handle this. Poor, defenceless Avid hadn’t stood a chance. Scott forced thoughts of the fledgling from his mind; memories of how he’d looked at him with such adoration, of how he’d looked in Scott’s clothes. There was no time for weakness. Avid’s sacrifice had done Scott a great favour. Like a canary in a mine, his death was a warning. The tides of power shifted.

Owen and Pyro might come for him with claw and tooth, but Scott would be ready. He understood the subtle art of power. He understood politics, was a master of manipulation, and he was wiser for all his years. Owen had made the mistake of becoming a threat, and he would die for it.

Chapter Text

Step 2: Secure Allegiances

In a room newly built amongst the bones of ages past, Scott poured chicken blood into three wine glasses. As a leader, it was important to put on a confident front. He could show no weakness lest Shelby and Drift’s already shaky resolve shatter entirely. They weren’t exactly the picture of soldiers, and Scott needed soldiers, for this was a war. There was no mistaking that. This was not the first he’d seen. The wars fought between vampires might be nothing in the shadow of what great horrors the humans wrought–he’d pass on sampling the doctor’s blood himself, thank you very much–but they were no less deadly for the combatants. Fancying himself a general, Scott imagined how he might look in a uniform.

“Uh… Scott? Are these uh–are these for us?” Drift asked.

At least she still feared him, even if her eagerness to please brought up bitter memories of Avid. Sitting beside Shelby, her tension was obvious, hunched in on herself as they lounged freely across salvaged cushions. He’d restrained himself from saying it to her face, but Drift’s new clothes were rather drab and boring for a vampire, especially next to Shelby’s gorgeous dress. What? Who said he couldn’t have favourites?

“Of course they are,” Shelby said cheerfully. “There are three of them. Right, Scott?”

“What do you think?” Scott asked as he picked up his glass.

It took practice to sip blood with decorum. It went against vampiric instinct not to knock the whole thing back, but it was worth it to look classy. He swished it around his mouth as he surveyed the only two remaining members of the coven he truly trusted. How had it come to this? The fine glassware was wasted on chicken blood.

“This is about Avid, isn’t it?” Shelby asked. “About what happened to–about what they did to him?”

“Yes,” Scott lied. It would be tactless to say that revenge for Avid was a secondary concern behind his own survival. Shelby was grieving a fledgling, her first, the only one she’d ever turned.

“Good,” they said, with more venom than he had believed them capable of. “They went too far.”

“I can’t believe they just killed him,” Drift chimed in. “When I came to the castle, I thought I would be safe. But if vampires are killing each other, is it any better than being in town?”

Drift, in her cowardice, cut right to the true heart of the issue.

“Something must be done,” Scott agreed, “but we cannot act rashly. I’d tell you to take a breath but well… Drink some blood, and let’s talk through it.”

Shelby and Drift did as they were told, watching him with large, trusting eyes. Scott was not only self-serving. Through this, he protected them as well. If Owen and Pyro could kill Avid, they were certainly capable of hurting them as well.

“As much as I would like to kill them both,” Scott said, “I don’t feel like fighting a war on two fronts. Not that I couldn’t do it… but that’s twice the work.”

“Right yeah, the humans. They’ll never take us back now.” Drift nodded along. “War on two fronts. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. I’ve seen this all before. Vampires can be greedy, impulsive creatures, just like humans. They just have longer to figure themselves out, but I’ve had to deal with plenty who never managed it.”

Given that it was newly constructed, their meeting room was less lavish than what Scott was used to. There was a single rug upon which sat a desk and three chairs piled with mismatched cushions. Upon the desk, which was excellent mahogany, sat the glasses and a chessboard. He’d dug the old thing out of the back of some catacomb because the room needed at least one decoration. Now he played with the pieces as he spoke, rolling them between his fingers. He was white, of course. Scott always moved first.

“What happened back then?” Drift asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

In truth, Scott didn’t care for chess. He knew how to play, of course, but found it mind-numbingly boring. It was about aesthetics. Scott could really sell the sexy, strategic mastermind look.

“I am over a thousand years old, Drift, and I was asleep for only half of that. Anything that has happened has happened more than once.” He sighed, placing the queen back into her place in the ranks. “However, talking with you two, I am reminded of one time in particular where my coven fell to infighting.” He paused. “I’m being dramatic. It was just a spat, really.”

He told them of another time, a brief summary of a complex situation which had been, in truth, the result of his own mistakes. He left that part out. It was embarrassing that he had not learned his lesson, making the same mistakes again. Back then, he’d turned an unstable, power-hungry man who’d wormed his way to the center of Scott’s coven, turning fledglings of his own until Scott was left with only his closest girls as allies. The things he’d let a beautiful man get away with…

“You remind me of them,” Scott said, wistfully. “We had so much fun together. I wonder where they are now.”

One, at least, he knew to be dead, but he wasn’t about to tell them that. The truth was, as much as the girls' nights had been fun–bloody tie-dye, wine, and gossip–noble ladies hadn’t been cut out for a vampiric civil war.

“He sounds like Pyro,” Shelby noted, sharp as ever.

“You think so? I suppose I see it…” He took another swig of blood. “Regardless, my point is that I won back then, and I’ll win again now. Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Shelby said.

“Of course,” Drift repeated. “You have so much more experience than either of us do. So what do we do?”

“We secure allegiances. We need more people working for us… whether they know it or not. Then we can move them around like chess pieces, but they don’t know I’m the one pulling the strings.”

“You’re kind of mixing metaphors there,” Drift said, then cringed. “Sorry. It was very descriptive. I totally get what you’re saying. Sorry.” She finished the rest of her blood in one gulp.

“We need the town and Owen and Pyro to fight one another.” Scott decided to ignore the comment. “We don’t care who wins, because we want both of them to lose. We make sure the fight is as ugly and bloody as possible, so at worst, both sides come out weaker. Does that make sense?”

They both nodded. 

“What you said about the town not accepting us back may be true for me and Shelby, but it's not for you, Drift.”

“Really… are you sure? Abolish doesn't seem to want me around… And after he killed Shelby… I don't know if I want to risk it.”

Shelby found her hand and gave it a squeeze. Drift clung to her, knuckles white.

Scott waved away her concern. “Has he attacked you?”

She shook her head.

“Right. And if he does, the doctor and Pearl will certainly give him a hard time. You're harmless, at least in their eyes.”

“I am pretty harmless…” Drift admitted.

“That's not my…” he sighed. “You're a vampire, you're not harmless. What's important is that they think that you are. All I need you to do is go back to town, tell them the truth about what happened to Avid, and say you want to join back up with them.”

“I don't know Scott… I'm not a very good liar. What if I mess this up?”

“You won't, because you don't even have to lie. You don't feel safe around Owen and Pyro. You do want the humans’ help in killing them. We are allied with the town in this. You only have to not tell them that you're reporting to me. I'm their ally too, really. You just don't tell them that because they'd be unhappy if they knew.”

“Okay…” 

He watched the wheels turning behind Drift’s eyes. For a moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of some intricate, clockwork mechanism. Scott reminded himself not to underestimate the detective.

“I think I can do that… maybe. Yeah.”

“I know you can do it, Drift!” Releasing her hand, Shelby gave her a quick hug. 

“I’ll do it,” Drift said. She swallowed thickly. “The other vampires will think I betrayed them, right? Owen will…” There was no need to finish the thought.

“Oh no, you’re right!” Shelby gasped. “Is this a good idea, Scott? We can’t lose Drift, too. We can’t!”

What other option did they have? Lie down and let Owen assume control of the coven? Scott would rather die. Okay, maybe not, but he would happily sacrifice either of them with little pause. He did not voice his frustration with Shelby, but flicked over one of the pawns. It rolled toward the center of the board.

“If he asks, tell him you’re a double agent,” Scott advised. “Truth can manipulate just as well as lies. It’s about how you say it. It doesn’t matter if he believes you. Just… don’t go into any enclosed spaces. Stick by the competent humans… Pearl, Abolish. I wouldn’t trust Apo or Cleo, but they are still allowed in town as well, as far as I hear, and it’s up in the air who they’d side with.”

Drift nodded. “Alright. It's alright, Shelby. I have to do this. For Avid, right?”

“For Avid,” Shelby agreed past a lump in her throat.

If he could have, Scott would have thanked him. Avid was the perfect symbol, the perfect rallying point. It was love for Avid, and not for Scott, that kept Shelby and Drift by his side. There was no competing with the dead.

After a brief crash course on manipulation, discrete meetings, basic spy craft and the like, Scott had determined that Drift was not cut out for such things. There was nothing to be done about it. This was not a long-term arrangement. He doubted things would simmer for more than a day or two more. Oakhurst reached its boiling point.

His little double agent was sent on her way, and Scott was left with only Shelby. There was comfort in that, but also insecurity. Lovely as she was to spend time with, Shelby was recovering from Abolish’s incursion into the castle. She was a stake away from death, and if Avid’s death had Scott this unsettled, he was not prepared for how Shelby’s would leave him. Without allies, for one.

Picking up the bishop, Scott studied it.

“So what’s next?” Shelby asked.

They were focused, intense in a way that did not suit them. Beautiful though they were, there was an ugliness to their expression. It was good. It was exactly what Scott needed from them.

“Owen and Pyro cannot know we’re against them. They don’t suspect me, of course, but you were his sire. They’ll be watching you. You need to buddy up. Be sweet, friendly, Shelby. I know you can do it.”

“It won’t work on Owen,” they said, picking at the lace edges of their skirt. “He knows. He saw into me when it was too new to hide. He won’t trust me.”

Scott did not challenge their judgment.

“I can go talk to Pyro,” she offered. “He trusts me the most out of anyone, I think. Definitely more than he trusts you.”

That came as a surprise to Scott, but again he did not challenge her. If he could not trust Shelby, there was no one left to trust.

“Go,” he told her. “I want to see him wrapped around your pinkie finger.”

Chapter Text

Step 3: Learn From History

It was a grey day in Oakhurst, though the sun never seemed to shine properly on the Dead Wood. Scott had been hunting, driven by instinct and hunger. He hadn’t meant to come here. Yet here he was again, standing over Avid’s makeshift headstone. Avid was lucky Scott had stooped to lift the stone, to chisel in his name. He certainly couldn’t be expected to unearth his body from whatever hole Owen had dumped him in.

“Shelby and Drift really seem to miss you,” Scott told the stone. “Maybe you weren’t as alone as you thought.”

The only answer was the song of the birds in the trees and the rush of the river behind him. Avid, who had never shut up for a moment in life, was silent now.

Scott had lived so long, had seen all there was to see, had met so many people that their faces blurred together in his memory until all that was left were archetypes: the laughing ladies in his entourage, the foolish, beautiful men who batted their eyelashes at him in hopes of earning immortality. What difference was one friend from the next, aside from the century between them? Yet in all his years, Scott had never met another like Avid. The man had been wholly unique, and Scott meant that as an insult. Against his will, Avid was burned into him. Scott touched his lips. When Avid kissed him, it had left a scar, of sorts. It would heal in time, Scott told himself, but the dirty truth was that in this one thing, Scott was not so confident.

He tried to pull himself from the current of memory, but the water was high from the supernatural storms that constantly drowned this land. Wandering to the bank, Scott watched the white-water and remembered. Human Avid had been so afraid–Scott had smelled it on him–so desperate to protect the townsfolk, most of whom wouldn’t have spat on him if he was dying of thirst. Despite the speeches Scott had spun for his new recruits, he had never truly viewed Avid as a threat. Avid had never been a true hunter; burdened with knowledge, not bloodlust. While he’d passed out garlic and silver, obsessing over building homes to hide within, he’d never passed out stakes.

Scott had been drawn to him, even then. There had seemed no better cure for his endless boredom than teasing the self-proclaimed vampire hunter. There was just something about his reactions… He’d been so easy to wind up. Scott had been undermining an enemy… Excuse after excuse.

He remembered Avid’s laughter as he first turned into a bat. He remembered how he’d looked in his clothes. He remembered the kiss. He remembered…

“Now what do we have here?”

Skin rose on Scott’s back as he turned around to face the source of the voice. Owen loomed over Avid’s grave. Scott was not afraid because he did not know fear. He was not surprised because surely he had not been so lost in memory as to allow the other vampire to sneak up on him.

“Hm?” Scott asked, as if he were only here to watch the river, as if he’d forgotten about the grave. “Are you here to pay your respects?”

“Are you?” Owen snarled, so quick to anger. “He doesn’t deserve a grave. Who made this?”

Scott wanted, so badly, to take responsibility. He wanted to step into Owen’s space and see the fear in his eyes as he realized he’d misjudged him. But they were past the point of empty threats. A threat made here would need to be backed promptly by violence, and Scott dared not strike until he was certain it would kill. A fight between them now had odds far too even for his liking.

“I came to see,” Scott lied. “Shelby told me about it. Not sure if it was her or Drift who made it.”

Just like that, Owen was calm again. Had he always been this volatile?

“If I had respect to pay, I would have no need for this. I know where the body is. I can smell it’s not here.”

Scott shrugged. “Guess they couldn’t be bothered to dig it out of the crypt. That’s where it is, right?”

“Yes. I told you.”

“Of course. Foolish of me to think you might have moved it.”

Owen stared at Scott. Scott stared back. There was nothing in his expression for Owen to see–he was certain of that–nothing but indifference. Then Owen kicked over the headstone. It was a heavy stone, half buried, but the force of Owen’s strike sent it rolling down the hill. The noise Scott made was not intentional. He dug nails into his palm, quickly regaining control, but there was no way Owen hadn’t heard his reaction.

“Now that’s just disrespectful,” Scott scolded. “What’s the point? What if Shelby sees this? Why fracture our coven even worse than you already have?”

“I did it––” Owen sharpened each word to a killing point “––because I felt like it. I cannot break what has already been broken. There is no healing what is broken between Shelby and I. She would kill me if she were capable of it.”

“Hm…” Scott fixed Owen with his best judgmental glare. “And do you think that was a sound, strategic decision while the humans are hunting us?”

Owen laughed. “You keep saying that. Are you really that afraid of them, Scott? I slaughtered them back when Oakhurst was a proper town without anyone’s help! I could finish this alone.”

“Oh, the confidence of the young. At this point, Oakhurst is less a town and more a collective of vampire hunters. Calm yourself. If you run in and get yourself killed, that’s bad for all of us.”

“Oh please… There’s maybe one amongst them who can put up any fight at all, and even Abolish bleeds like any other human.”

“And Apo?”

“Ah, and so you make my point for me. It’s best to eliminate unreliable vampires before they defect to the humans, and mark my words, Apo will die by my hand. I won’t rest until she’s dead.”

Scott sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m not arguing about what you did. What’s done is buried. I am simply judging the tantrum you’re having at a rock.”

It was a good insult, a well-aimed jab. Scott was proud of it. Owen was acting like a child. Always caught in one fit of angst or another, he was exhausting to be around. But Owen did not react with embarrassment. He did not continue arguing about strategy.

Instead, he asked, “does it bother you? That I destroyed his grave?”

“What–”

“Does it bother you, Scott?”

Owen was onto him. So, Scott turned up his nose, curled his lip, and fixed him with the most condescending stare nobility could offer. He looked down on the other vampire, literally.

“Which of the two of us sounds bothered right now? It's not me. After watching whatever that tantrum was, if I didn't know better, I’d think you were having regrets.”

There was a beat of silence, then another. Scott forced down his rage. He drowned his memories of Avid in the white-water. He lied.

“It’s alright, Owen. I don't care what you're feeling. It's none of my business. What's done is done. Let's just try to communicate better going forward, alright?”

“Very well…” Owen attempted what he probably believed to be a reassuring smile.

His gritted teeth reminded Scott of peeling back the lip of a hunting dog to check quality before purchase.

“I’m hungry,” Owen said. “I must go hunt. You know how it is.”

With a few parting platitudes, he turned and galloped into the woods. Scott watched him go and wondered how Louis, of all people, could have created such a monster. Scott had met quite a few vampires, and it was a rare sort who existed only to destroy.

Though Scott had handled that well–aside from one slip-up–they had come dangerously close to conflict. Scott wasn't ready for that yet. This was Avid's fault, really. Even dead, he was a pain in the ass, muddling Scott's thoughts and distracting him with memories.

But memories weren't only a distraction. In the game of power, there was much that could be learned from history. So to stop thinking about the recent past, Scott went further back, reviewing the trials and lessons of a different age.

The first time Scott had witnessed conflict between vampires, he hadn’t yet been the one in control. His sire had rivals and dramas from a time before Scott’s birth. It was hard to conceptualize the world existing without him in it, but all evidence pointed to the fact that it had.

Scott did not remember the details of this spat because he hadn’t particularly cared, even back then. The gist of it was that Scott’s sire had been chased out of town, and Scott had stayed, because he’d been more popular, prettier, and smarter. Why should he suffer for someone else’s failure? It had always been Scott’s town, predestined by his human birthright.

Scott had found his own rivals throughout the centuries: jaded lovers, jealous wanderers, misjudged fledglings. The story he’d told Shelby and Drift had been unexceptional amongst them, except for how that foolish man had been the first domino in a chain, returning a century later to knock Scott from his throne for the first time.

Scott hadn’t been manipulated into turning him. Manipulation implied intent. The man had simply changed once he’d tasted blood, and the power it represented. Scott had simply misread him. How foolish he’d been to think he could steal Scott’s empire out from under him. It had been a clumsy attempt, really. Only Scott’s own inexperience had caused him to worry when he found himself alone with his girls. He knew better now; was better. The man–beautiful as he’d been–just hadn’t had the instincts for it. Many of the fledglings he’d turned hadn’t wanted to join him either, eventually falling in with Scott or leaving town to seek their own destinies.

What a terrible judge of character. There had been one of his fledglings in particular who was never cut out for a life of dominion over others. They had only accepted the gift to escape a societal role that was no better than a noose around their neck.

After using the gift to gain control of his life, Louis seemed to have no interest in fighting Scott for control of Oakhurst and so had abandoned his sire and left. Scott had forgotten the guy existed for over a century. His sire and his allies were long gone by the time Louis returned to live amongst the humans, unnoticed. What a freak. What sort of vampire chose to live as a human? What sort of vampire chose humanity over his own kind? Surely not the same sort who met Owen and thought it would be a good idea to give him immortality, claws, and a taste for blood. Imagine thinking it was in humanity's best interest to get rid of Scott, then choosing to create Owen and release him upon them for all eternity? It didn't make sense.

If there was one thing that could be learned from history, it was that even the smartest people made stupid mistakes. Scott was a genius, and he hadn't seen Louis amongst the townsfolk until it was too late. Louis had beaten Scott–the first to ever do so–but he'd worked with the townsfolk to put him to sleep, only to be murdered by their descendants.

If there was one thing Scott could learn from history, it was that he was not infallible as he pretended to be. He'd lost before. If he wasn't careful, it could happen again.

Chapter Text

Step 4: Separate and Surround

“I’m proud of you,” Scott told Drift.

He meant it, too. Truth could manipulate just as well as lies.

“Thank you.” Drift accepted the praise with a curt nod.

She did not beam under his attention as she would have any other day. The weight of what she was about to do dragged upon her. Drift was ready to fly. When Shelby gave the word, she would return to town where the humans waited to spring into action. It disgusted Scott slightly to imagine them sharpening stakes and forging silver. There was a certain scent when skin burned from holy water, and he tasted it at the back of his throat. Yet he would not shy away from his own plan. The board lay exactly as Scott had set it. It was not him who would burn today.

Today, the stakes were meant for Jack von Pyrocythe, if the town could manage to kill him. The stronger of the two sides won the right to meet Scott’s claws directly. Drift and Shelby were instructed to keep out of it and interfere only if someone tried to flee. He could not abide cowardice.

Shelby walked into the ballroom. She waved at Scott, doing a few mock dance steps across the polished floor. What a shame they had never gotten to use the place since its reconstruction.

“Pyro and I are heading out,” she said.

Subtly, she made the hand sign Scott had taught her. It meant Pyro was nearby. He might be listening, though likely not, because Scott did not sense him.

“Where to?” Scott asked for the sake of the performance. He already knew.

“Nowhere in particular,” Shelby pretended to lie. “We’re only hunting.”

If Pyro were listening, they would believe themself to, once again, be pulling one over on Scott. They did not know that this “anti-vampire weapon” Shelby had found in a crypt was pure fiction.

“Have you seen Owen?” Scott asked, as if it were a passing thought and not the crux on which their plan hung.

They would not strike until Pyro and Owen were separated. They were too strong together.

“I actually saw him near town,” Shelby said, and Scott stiffened. That wasn’t good. “He was talking to Apo.”

“And they both came out of that conversation alive?” Scott’s eyebrows flew up to his hairline.

As much as Scott hated the soldier–the first vampire here to truly rebel against him–he respected her honesty. Apo was not cut out for subterfuge. She did not hide her hand. If she planned to kill you, she would tell you to your face. That being said, Scott owed her several deaths. He could not abide ingratitude. In the end, she’d asked him to turn her, after all. 

“Yeah… It was weird, which is why I wanted to mention it. I didn’t hear what they were talking about. Owen left by the time I snuck up. Then he went north-west, far into the woods.”

Scott nodded. That was all he needed to hear. That was the opposite direction of the ambush they set for Pyro. He clasped Drift’s shoulder.

“Oh, ha ha. I’m suddenly really hungry. I should go. Can I go?” The detective was not cut out for this.

Barely suppressing his eye roll, Scott nodded. “You'd better get on it. Food has been scarce since you all let Abolish just waltz into my castle.”

“Right. Sorry!” Drift dissolved into bats beneath his hand.

Indulging an impulse, Scott took Shelby’s hand in his and drew them onto the dance floor. For a moment, they swayed to imagined music. Then Scott leaned in so his lips brushed their ear and whispered, “lead him to his death. When he reforms here, I’ll be waiting for you.”

There was nothing more to say. There were tears behind Shelby’s eyes as they separated, but their lashes stayed dry. It was a tragedy how much stronger she’d been forced to become these last weeks. For Scott, however, it was only a benefit.

The castle was quiet. Across the land within the beacons’ pull, pieces moved, but all Scott needed to do was wait. He sat at the head of the banquette table and watched the beacon. He wasn’t nervous. Why would he be? Scott was comfortable in his smugness. He spent the time sharpening stakes and remembering all the times Pyro had disobeyed and disrespected him. He did not think about how, once upon a time, Pyro had looked at him with eyes not so different from Avid’s.

Scott had not watched a vampire reform since the natural flow of things had been disturbed by the beacon. Once upon a time, Pyro would have returned to the sight of his death. Instead, the castle was now a grave they all shared. First, there was mist, swirling around the beacon. It formed strange patterns, though the air in the hall was still. Then suddenly, Pyro was in front of him. He curled in a ball on the stone, clutching at himself. He was shaking, gasping for air he did not need. What a pathetic sight.

Avid had cried too when he’d reformed. He’d sounded so young, and though Scott had not admitted it to himself at the time, the display had tugged at his sympathies. Pyro was no more pathetic, yet all he could feel watching him was disgust. Rarely had Scott seen a vampire grow uglier after their turning, but the more powerful Pyro became more monstrous he looked. It did not become him.

Scott knelt beside him and caressed his cheek. The shaking stopped as Pyro got a hold of himself.

Donning his most convincing mask of sympathy, Scott asked, “Pyro… what happened?”

Pyro buried his face in Scott's blouse. He clutched at him with nails sharp enough to tear the fine silk. It took everything Scott had not to shove him away. Instead, he carded fingers through Pyro’s hair and tried to pretend he was someone else.

Why wait? Scott weighed the pros and cons as Pyro blubbered into his chest. His stakes were within reach, hidden beneath his jacket. It would be so easy just to end this now, but of course, things were often not as easy as they appeared. Decisions had to be made based on numbers, not emotions, and two-on-one was better odds. That, and Scott had promised this kill to Shelby. Her sire had killed her fledgling. Hers would be a potent vengeance.

“Sire,” Pyro wined. “Sire I'm sorry I–” He choked on a sob. “--I failed. You. I–”

“Hush…” Scott dug nails into Pyro's skull with perhaps a little too much force. “Hush. You're safe now. Tell me what happened.”

How much of this was crocodile tears? It did not escape Scott's notice how Pyro only called him sire when he was in trouble. Since he'd murdered Avid with Owen--caught up in his victory--he'd only referred to him as Goldsmith. Perhaps Pyro, too, hid a stake beneath his jacket.

“I went into a crypt with Shelby and--and the townsfolk, they were waiting. All of them. I don't know how they knew. They killed me! I tried to fight but–”

“It's alright,” Scott lied. “You're going to be alright. Get a hold of yourself and stop ruining my shirt.”

The one strategic downside of waiting to kill Pyro was the looming threat of Owen’s reappearance.

“Let's go down into the crypt,” Scott suggested, helping Pyro to his feet. “You can lie down and recover. I'll get you some blood.”

It was difficult to keep the hatred from his voice. Scott was ordinarily an exceptional actor. This failing, too, was Avid’s fault, because all Scott could think about was how what he did for Pyro now, he had done for Avid already. This was a dead echo. When Scott had brought Avid down to his room to recover, it was the last time he'd ever seen him.

He would hide Pyro in some corner of the labyrinthine catacombs under the guise of protecting him, and Owen would know nothing, even once Pyro was already dead. He would be buried here with the rest of Scott’s forgotten history. Only Shelby knew where to find them.

Pyro followed obediently, even thanking him as Scott spun bullshit about a potential incursion from the townsfolk.

“I should have been able to kill them,” Pyro said. “They’re only human for gods' sake! Apo wasn’t even there. I should have… I should have…”

Scott didn’t speak. He guided Pyro with an arm around his waist and battled to keep the disgust from his face.

“It all happened so fast.” Pyro continued babbling. “I turned around and Shelby hadn’t dropped down with me. I don’t know what happened. We batted on the way there so…”

And so it continued. Scott was losing the fight against his own mind. He could not help but imagine the scene of Avid’s death, cast in dramatic, flickering torchlight as Pyro loomed over him.

Reaching their dead-end destination, Scott shoved the skeleton off the plinth and offered it to Pyro.

“Not the most comfortable.” Pyro laughed nervously. 

He sat as Scott produced a bottle of blood. “Drink up.”

Pyro did as he was told. “Ugh… chicken blood. I’m really starting to get sick of the stuff. What’s the point of choking it down? It’s not like it can make me much stronger at the moment. I forgot how terrible it feels to be so weak. I can’t even see!”

“Right, I forgot about that. I’m sorry, I don’t have any torches on me.”

“It seems so unnatural, like humans are the ones with the broken eyes. You know, that’s one of the last things Avid said? It made it easier to kill him, of course, but it wasn’t even an intentional strategy. We just forgot.”

Scott said nothing, rendered mute by rage. The worst part was, Pyro wasn’t even doing it on purpose. At the grave, Owen had been taunting him, testing him, but in that moment, Scott saw the truth; Pyro really was just this stupid.

Pyro got to his feet. “How about we sneak back to my room? I have some torches there, and some cow’s blood. That’s a bit closer to the good stuff. Maybe we can share a drink?”

For once in his long life, words escaped Scott. Pyro didn’t wait for a response. He stepped past, toward life, toward escape. Scott moved too fast for Pyro to comprehend in his weakened form. In one, smooth motion he pushed the taller man against the wall. Pyro barely reacted. His head cocked slightly to the side as he stared at Scott expectantly. He was not afraid only… stunned.

“How about you stay right here?” Scott growled.

“Alright…” Pyro spoke barely above a breath.

It was strange to be so close. This threadbare moment was the last Scott would ever have with Pyro, and so he allowed himself to appreciate it. Scott cupped Pyro’s face in his hand, examining, cataloging. His pallid skin gave him a sickly appearance, even compared to other vampires, and the whites of his eyes had been replaced by black void, the red of the iris standing out starkly upon them. His lips were so pale there was no delimitation from the rest of his wretched flesh.

“What is it, sire?” Pyro whispered.

“Hm…?” Scott asked, playing with the top of Pyro’s collared shirt.

This vampire was a far cry from the naive student who’d stumbled into Oakhurst. Of all who’d come here, Pyro was perhaps the most transformed.

“You’re calling me sire again,” Scott noted. “Not Goldsmith?” The edge crept into his voice, and suddenly Scott no longer cared enough to hide it.

“I’m sorry, sire. I didn’t realize you’d notice. I–I’ve been in a strange place… recently. My emotions… they’re all over the place.”

“Is that so? And what are you feeling right now?”

Scott grabbed a handful of Pyro’s shirt and shoved him more securely against the stone.

“Confused?” Pyro squeaked. “Did you want something? From me?”

“I’m waiting for Shelby,” Scott admitted. “She should be back soon. She should be back already.”

“I hope she’s alright.” Pyro squirmed. “She was with me when the humans… you know? Do you want to go look for her? I’ll stay here, I promise.”

That was a promise Scott had heard before. Avid had been too weak to fight. Scott had told him to stay, had ordered him, but Scott did not blame him for his disobedience. If he had refused to go with Owen and Pyro, it would only have given them an excuse.

“It’s alright. I’m here.” A voice emerged from the darkness.

Shelby was invisible, and Scott had not sensed their presence. They did what Pyro was incapable of. Perhaps it was because they were not his fledgling, or perhaps Shelby was simply gifted with a light step.

“Took you long enough,” Scott chided.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Scott snorted and released Pyro, who did not move, slumping further against the wall. “Interrupt what? They’re your sire. I’d hate to keep them from you.”

Shelby reappeared, standing nearly elbow to elbow with Scott. He managed not to jump. She was frightening today. Was that pride Scott felt? It was certainly some rare emotion. He took a few steps back.

“I have a question for you,” Shelby told Pyro. “Have you thought about killing me like you did Avid?”

“What?” Pyro sputtered. “No! No of course not, Shelby! You’re my friend. My only friend… I think. I would never.”

“Be honest. Is there no world? No situation where you would?”

Pyro shook his head, but there was hesitation. 

“Don’t lie to me.” Shelby pouted. “I know you’d kill me if it’s what you needed to do to survive. You killed me once already, remember? Even though I ran. Even though I begged.”

“It was the bloodlust,” Pyro begged. “I’ve told you. I barely remember it. But I’m sorry. It was inevitable… if it hadn’t been me…” He glanced at Scott. “But it shouldn’t have been me. I’ve been working on my self-control so that I never do something like that again.”

“That can’t be true,” Shelby said. “You keep contradicting yourself. If you’re in control of yourself now, then that means you chose to murder someone who I love. You chose to do that, even though we’re friends.”

Pyro stood bolt upright. He looked from Shelby to Scott, and then down the empty, skull-lined corridor. Scott saw the pieces fit together behind his eyes as he realized the truth of the situation.

“Avid didn’t deserve your love,” Pyro growled. And so the mask slipped. “He burned your house down, Shelby. He–”

“That’s none of your business. I didn’t want him dead! You didn’t ask me what I wanted. Just like you didn’t ask me what I wanted when you turned me. I might have said yes!”

In her anger, Shelby had taken a step away from Pyro, and he leapt at his only chance. He tried to run, shoving Scott out of the way as he made his break for freedom. Like this he was so slow, and so weak. He lacked the energy to even turn into a bat. Scott stopped him with one hand, and with the other tore a deep gash into his stomach.

“No…” Pyro begged. “Please! I'll do anything you want. Please!”

But as Shelby grabbed his arm, dragging him back, something changed within Pyro. He stopped begging and instead began to laugh. It was one of the worst sounds Scott had ever heard.

Pyro did not go quietly. He fought back. He latched onto Shelby's neck as she struggled to position the stake, trying to tear her throat out with his teeth. Even with most of his power gone, he was much larger than she was. Scott pried him off of her, and threw him downward. The side of Pyro’s head collided with the edge of the plinth. Something cracked.

Then before Pyro could right himself, Shelby was on top of him. Knees on his stomach, she pinned him to the ground. Teeth bared, pupils slitted, she drove the stake into his heart.

Pyro died immediately–Scott watched the light leave his eyes–but Shelby was not done. She pulled the stake free and stabbed him with it again, and again. She was crying. Scott did not interfere though the spattering blood ruined her beautiful dress. She punctured hole after hole in the corpse, until what was left could barely be recognized.