^^Above: Our boys (Kit Connor, left; Louis Partridge, right) all dressed up, just for fun ;) and for the sake of this chapter^^

Life Among the Vampires, and

Their Society.

An Account by F. F. Howe.

21 May, evening. — The absolute last thing I expected coming to the coming-out party tonight was a ghost-hunt. Not to mention being confronted by three hunters, a debutante wielding a double-barreled shotgun, and a ghoul I've only heard stories about called the Drowned Man.

Still, because it was a Selling event, and everyone there would be a hunter — all the men, anyway — Father didn't protest when I'd come downstairs with my rapier as part of my evening wear. Any good hunter knows it's better to always be prepared.

We arrive early, because Father wanted a word with the Selling brothers before everyone else came trickling in. Trying to appear interested is the hardest part. They don't seem to be discussing anything that concerns me, anyway.

Then, that's when I hear the bang of a gunshot, coming from upstairs. Father and the two Sellings look around, bewildered, but it's just me who takes off. I hurtle up one flight, taking the stairs two at a time, and then as another one comes I keep running, down the corridor to the second flight. I don't hear a third, and for a moment I think I might have imagined it.

Suddenly, number three, coming from a room down at the far end of the hallway. I jog towards it, wondering what could possibly be happening that merits three gunshots. I come up on a closed door, with a strong ghost-chill wafting through it. The doorknob's so cold it numbs my hand instantly as I try to turn it. It sticks, and I twist it harder. The door suddenly swings inward and everyone inside — Wells, Naomi, Cornelius, Marjorie, and the ghoul — swivels towards me at the same time. I can see Wells and Cornelius armed with rapiers, and Marjorie hefts a long, double-barreled shotgun pointed right at me.

I raise my hands. "Don't shoot!"

"Wilkes?" Wells exclaims. "What are you doing here?"

"I invited him," Marjorie says, just as the Drowned Man moans and lurches towards me.

I draw my rapier and adopt a ready stance, trying to remember all my training. Except none of it included a Drowned Man. The thing comes at me surprisingly quickly, and as it lunges I thrust forward, at its chest. I feel my rapier go in, then stick, like I'd jabbed it into a tree trunk. I try to pull it out, but it doesn't budge. The Drowned Man moans at me, grasping at me with rotting fingers.

"Langdon!" Marjorie shouts. "Let go!"

I do, and she fires. The ghoul jerks sideways, blue streaks spurting from its back. She shoots it again and its leg shatters below the knee. Naomi suddenly leaps from the iron circle, towards a sharp curved blade lying next to a carpetbag against the wall. She snatches the blade up and with a barbaric howl just like Wells's, she charges forward and runs the Drowned Man through the stomach. With an upward thrust, she guts it, and the ghoul melts in a lump of blue slime. My rapier clatters to the floor, and for a moment all we can do is stare at it, then at each other.

"So," I say finally. "Does anyone want to tell me what just happened?"

—

Surprisingly, it's Cornelius who fills me in. Apparently he'd dropped by the Hudson house earlier today to engage their services, because he'd wanted to rid their own house of ghosts. After that he'd — reluctantly — asked his sister to help, because while he'd said he didn't believe it when someone else said it, he'd seen her ghost-speak when they were children. Once they were all here, they'd quickly gotten rid of all the spirits, a much simpler task than anyone thought. Except the house wasn't done, sending a Drowning Man out after them. None of them had gotten a good enough look to suss out which relative he was.

"What exactly are the Drowned Men?" I ask, helping Wells and Naomi with the cleanup once Cornelius and Marjorie go downstairs to help receive the first guests of the evening.

"There isn't a lot of literature on them," Naomi says, winding the iron chain in a neat coil on the rug. "Some say it's a vengeful being made of many spirits, like the Portuguese man-o'-war. Others say it's born out of the hidden animosity brewing within a house's walls for generations. No one really knows for sure."

"They're fairly rare, too," says Wells. "That's why you only read about them and go years without ever seeing one. That was my first time, personally."

"Does anyone know why they call them that? Drowned Man?"

"The theory says it's because of what makes them," Naomi says. "They're literally drowned in hate. Anger. Resentment. There's a particular account I found of someone seeing one present at the execution of Anne Boleyn."

"And King Louis the Sixteenth," says Wells, rolling up the ammunition belt I'd seen Marjorie wearing. "Biggest swarm of Drowned Men recorded there, actually."

"But it is a ghoul," I point out, thinking back to my classes. "So it has to have a human origin."

"Is hate not a human emotion?" Naomi says. "Or anger? Spirits are born out of those emotions, Langdon. They don't just appear because the person led a good life and died peacefully in their old age."

She has a good point there. "The Sellings certainly seem to have a lot of that. Resentment, I mean."

"For the new ways, maybe," says Wells. "But there's a reason why Cornelius is the way he is...it's because of his family. They want him to become a Selling man. Just like your father wants you to be like him, Wilkes."

That makes sense, when I think about it. The Bromley Guild has been in the Selling family for generations, just like the Institute has been in mine. If both Cornelius and I were to follow in our family's footsteps, we would turn into exact copies of them. Not to mention that if I were to marry his sister, the Guild and the Institute would monopolise everything — how the Institute trained aspiring hunters, and how the Guild would use them after they finished. It would become a monster, engulfing everything.

"I don't want to be like him," I say.

"I can't blame you," Naomi says. "And I think he knows it."

Father did know that. He refuses to acknowledge that he does, though.

"I'm nearly finished here, if you two want some time alone," says Naomi after a couple minutes of silence.

Wells splutters. "Naomi—"

"Go," she urges, jerking her chin at the door. "Before Langdon has to hobnob with the others."

I open the door and step out into the corridor first. Wells is right behind me, and before I know what's happening his hand seizes mine and he's pulling me down the hallway and into a vacant guest room. Then he's shutting the door and backing me into it, catching my face in his hands.

"I want you so bloody bad right now," he breathes, his eyes large and dark.

"You do?" I squeak.

Then his lips are crushing against mine, his hands crumpling fistfuls of my tuxedo jacket and my waistcoat in his fists. On instinct I catch his head between my own hands, pushing my fingers into his hair. It's soft where it's grown longer over his ears, curling just slightly. As I do, I hear him growl low in his throat and feel him press the entire length of his body into me. Which is how I feel his arousal, and that startles me.

"Wells." I pull back, breathing hard. "I've never done...that..."

"Done what?" He seems confused at first, but it quickly dawns on him. "Oh...Wilkes, I didn't mean...I think I must have..."

"I'm just confused is all," I say quickly, seeing disappointment replace the confusion. "I don't know...after what's happened lately, I'm not sure..."

"You mean between you and Marjorie," he says, not as a question.

"Yes-I mean...no..." I push away from him and pace to the window. "I don't know. I don't understand what's happening."

"You don't have to know right now," he says. "Like I said. I'm not going to pressure you."

"Do I have to decide?" The question sounds naïve coming out.

Wells doesn't answer, and when I turn around I see him leaning against the door, eyes riveted on the floor.

"Wells?"

"Eventually," he says with a heavy sigh. "Yes. Not until you're sure. But there will come a time when you'll have to pick one side or the other."

I tug at my collar, stiff and hot from the starch. "I wish it was easier."

"We wish everything was easier," Wells says, running one hand over his hair. "I wish things were easier when it comes to how I feel about you. I mean...I'm going to want you, no question. But...I don't know...it's been so long since I've let myself have feelings for anyone..."

I cross the room and take one of his hands. "Would it be all right if I kissed you? I mean...I don't feel ready to do anything else yet, but...I do like the kissing part."

He raises his head, and I cup his cheek to press my lips to his. His hands once again fist on my tuxedo lapels and yank me against him. For a brief time it's just this kiss and nothing else. I want it to go on forever, like nothing else in my life before.

"Bloody hell, how do you kiss like that?" he pants when we pull apart. "For someone who's never even been in a romantic relationship..."

"Who said this relationship was romantic? Maybe I just want to get you into bed."

He seizes my face in one hand, pinching my cheeks. "Do not tempt me, Wilkes."

I feel my heart rate spike, even as he lets go and we both burst into laughter.

—

Expectedly, the party is boring. All the boys my age are here from the different guilds, each one of them hoping to throw their hat in the ring to court Marjorie. It's almost laughable how they throw themselves at her, continuously stealing each other's limelight and scratching a rival's name off her dance card when they aren't looking.

I figure it's my turn to offer an escape to her, so when she has a free moment, I sidle up next to her and say, "Do you want to get some air, Miss Selling?"

"I would like that, Mr Wilkes," she says, looking up at me with gratitude.

I give her my elbow, and she slips her hand through it. Then we weave through the party guests to the front doors, which stand open. Marjorie watches the footman standing guard, and when he looks away she nudges me and says, "Now."

We step out into the night air, which is still cool but has a hint of summer warmth in it. Then we turn and walk up the street towards Hyde Park. I'm pleasantly surprised to see the number of people out at this time of night, most of them also dressed in their evening wear.

"There's something I wanted to tell you, Langdon," she says, when we stop on Rotten Row. "Without us being overheard. I know your friend Gifford was taken by the vampires a couple months ago. And...well...I overheard Father wanting to try blood-binding him again."

"Not for experimental purposes, I'm assuming?" I say. "Not this time around, anyway?"

"No," she says. "But that isn't all. I know where they've been keeping all the test subjects that they want to bind. Father thinks I don't know anything about any of it, but I do."

"Where?" I ask, hoping I don't sound too eager. Because she sounds hesitant, and almost afraid.

"Under the Institute." She takes a deep breath. "I've never seen it myself, but...apparently the reason why your father was there the night they were going to blood-bind me was...because he had to go to the Institute first...to collect the...the subject. He was bringing Gifford."

"Really?" I shake my head. "So...that was why he left the house so early. Almost an hour before the time it was supposed to start."

"I think..." She swallows hard and looks away. "I think we have to release them. The babes. All of them."

"Marjorie—"

"I know, I know," she says, covering her face. "It sounds mad. When I think about it, I don't even want to keep it on my mind for too long. But...if we do this, the binding might stop. At least long enough to figure out how to stop our fathers from perpetrating them."

Yes. Buy us time. I hadn't even thought of that. "We would have to be careful. And we'd probably have to enlist your brother."

Marjorie sighs heavily and drops her hands. "No matter what any of us think of him, Neely is a very capable hunter. And...between the two of you, we could get in easily."

"You are too," I say, thinking of our skirmish with the Drowned Man. "You with that rifle and that bandolier filled with salt-cartridges. You didn't even bat an eye."

"Yes, well..." She rolls her eyes. "Needs must, I suppose."

"No, really." I glance over my shoulder, at a rustling in the bush behind us. "You're just as capable as he is. I've seen you hold your own."

"Langdon." Marjorie catches my arm, looking alarmed. "Don't look now. But there's a vampire behind you."

"That is absolutely the last thing I expect to hear when you say Don't look now."

"Just...don't move," she says. "It's getting closer."

I sense a sudden presence behind me, like my shadow's risen off the ground and now stands upright.

"Resssscuing our babesssss," purrs the vampire, reaching a spidery white hand towards Marjorie's face. "Blesssss you, girl-child."

"If we do it," I say, without turning around. "Will you promise to let Giff be free? Live the rest of eternity the way he wants to?"

"You don't make the demandsssss here, pup." The vampire's hand closes on my shoulder.

"Please." I know I sound like I'm begging. But I can't help it. "My father wants me to kill him. All of you. Because to him you're all to blame for killing my mother. But you're not, and I know you're not. And he shouldn't have to suffer for something he knows nothing about."

"What do we get in return?" The vampire's voice is a low hiss.

"Anything," I say. "Anything you want."

"It isssss sssssomething you humanssss cannot give ussss," says the vampire. "But sssssince you are willing, there isssss one thing."

"Name it."

"Your father took a trophy of hisssss firsssst kill." The vampire's hand tightens. "Our ssssibling. Hisssss head isssss in your Inssssstitute sssssomewhere. Bring it to usssss, when you releasssse the babessss. And we will consssssider letting Gifford go free."

"Yes, of course," I say. "Consider it done."

"I will. Becaussssse I like a human who begsssss a little." The vampire chuckles softly and its hand releases my shoulder. I don't move until I hear a shuffle, like leaves across pavement, and a flapping of giant wings.

"Langdon." Marjorie takes my hand, rubbing my knuckles. "I didn't know about your mother. I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," I say, noticing her expression mingled with pain, grief, and worry. I squeeze her fingers gently. "It was a long time ago."

"Still...she was your mother. And she was taken from you when you needed her."

I nod. A few moments of silence pass, and we don't move, standing on the path facing each other.

"We'll avenge her death," I say then. "But we'll do it my way, not Father's. And that starts with sparing Giff's life."

—

24 May, morning. — The first part of that plan, which I volunteer myself for, is to try and convince Cornelius to help us. I know he puts on a show for the other boys in his year, especially the name-calling. But now I've seen another side of him, the one that believes something as rare as ghost-speak existing. So I know I have a shot.

That's why, when I see him crossing the quad between classes, dressed in a uniform like mine and not the tunic worn for practicals and demonstrations for once, I hoist my schoolbag and run after him.

"Cornelius!"

He stiffens and stops in his tracks. If he thinks it's unusual for us to be speaking on school grounds, it's even stranger for me.

"Glad I caught you," I say when I catch up.

"What is this about, Wilkes?" His voice is tight and hoarse.

"I wanted to ask you for a favour."

"You know I don't do favours, Wilkes," he says. "The more mad, the less I would consider."

"It was Marjorie's idea, actually," I say, and I see his eyes narrow. "She knows where the subjects for the blood-bindings are kept. Under the Institute, apparently. Her theory is that if we free them, it'll buy us more time to figure out what our fathers are plotting and stop them."

"You're mad," he says. "That'll never work. They've probably got more stashed under the Guild somewhere."

That surprises me. So neither his father or his uncle have been telling him anything. "It's worth a try, Cornelius. The blood-bindings'll keep happening if we don't. And the next one could cause Marjorie permanent harm. If it doesn't kill her."

"Mother's brilliant idea," he mutters, probably not meant to be heard out loud.

"For the blood-bindings?" I ask, making a muscle in his cheek twitch. "Or to use her?"

"Father was going to use himself," Cornelius says, each word bitten off. "Mother told him it would be more effective if he didn't."

So our speculation is right. Zora Selling does have a vested interest.

"No one will ever have to know you helped," I press. "I won't even say it was you. I could take the blame."

To my surprise, Cornelius says, "No. Don't do that."

"Don't go through with the rescue? Or don't take the—"

"Don't take the blame, Wilkes," he says, cutting me off. "This doesn't mean I suddenly like you or anything. Father and Uncle Gus are up to no good, and I think we've all realised it. And because your father's involved, now we know he isn't either. But to get back at them, I'm going to put my issues with you aside."

"You had issues with me? I had no idea."

He rolls his eyes. "Do not make me regret this, Wilkes."

I clap his shoulder. "Wouldn't dream of it."

—

Later, afternoon. — My first stop when classes lets out is Hampstead Heath. I hail a hackney at the top of the Kensington High Street, and feel myself anxiously twitching the whole ride there. Every street we pass is one closer to Wells, and I think of the heat of his kiss as he crosses my mind. And I know I want it again.

I practically leap from the hackney when it draws up in front of the Hudsons' house, and I have to double back and pay the driver when he shouts Oi, yer gonna pay me 'r wot, boy? Then I'm hammering on their front door and nearly cold-cock Wells as he opens it.

"Wilkes?" he says, surprised.

"He's in," I say, breathless. "Cornelius. He's going to help us."

"With...what, exactly?" Wells looks confused and a little overwhelmed by my bombardment.

"Is Naomi here? I think she'll want to hear this."

"Yes, she's—"

"Hello, Langdon," Naomi says, appearing behind Wells. "This is a pleasant surprise. Won't you come in?"

Wells steps aside, stunned, and I enter. Naomi's already disappeared into the sitting room, and he catches my wrist.

"I hope you'll have a spare minute when you've explained yourself," he says, and I see the want in his eyes. "I need a word."

"Of course...er...I'm sure I will." I would kiss him right here, but the door's open, and I don't know how nosy his neighbours are.

He gives me a nod, just a jerk of his chin, and then lets go of me. I'm aware of him behind me as I enter the sitting room, where Naomi's already pouring tea. She looks up at us as we come in.

"I do hope you and Cornelius didn't have another fistfight while you were at it," she says. "There's more than enough bruises between the two of you."

"No, nothing like that," I say with a shrug. "I think we may actually be learning to cooperate."

"I don't like him," Wells says. "But he showed me something different the night of his sister's coming-out that keeps me from outright hate."

"So what exactly is he helping us with, then?" Naomi asks, when we've sat down with our tea. "Provided we want to be involved as well?"

I explain it as briefly as I can, and unlike the one I gave to Cornelius I don't leave out the deal I made with the vampire. Even Naomi seems appalled by that, her mouth dropping open. And Wells gives my arm a punch so hard it goes numb.

"Ouch," I whine, rubbing it. "What was that for?"

"You made a deal with a bloody vampire is what that was for," hisses Wells. "I can't believe you would do something so foolish."

"But...it was saying they would consider freeing Giff..."

"Vampires twist emotions, Langdon," says Naomi. "They play on your fears, your weaknesses, your deepest wants and desires. They make you feel and say things that you otherwise wouldn't ever reveal in a normal human situation. That's why whenever Wells and I have to face one, we each wear crosses made of pure iron somewhere on our person. They're like ghosts in that they can't seem to harm you if you've got it on."

I think of what I'd said, about a vampire killing my mother and begging the one we'd met to spare my best friend. Now I understand exactly what I've done.

"You can't take a vampire at its word, Wilkes," says Wells. "It will tell you what you want to hear, even as it's manipulating you into saying anything it wants. It gets worse if you let it touch you."

It had touched me, now that he's said it. Held my shoulder in a death grip, actually. "It did."

"Oh, Langdon." Naomi shakes her head.

"What do I do?" I ask hopefully. "Maybe there's a way to get out of it."

"There's not," Wells says. "A vampire's deal is as long as its lifespan. Which for them, is quite a long time. For you, in vampire years, it's nothing. You'd spend your entire life in debt to it, unless you decide to kill it."

"But I don't want to. That's the whole point."

"You can appease it by giving it what it asked for," Naomi says. "It won't entirely get you out of it. But I have heard of some vampires being very lenient."

"Do you think...this one is?"

"If you're lucky," she says. "Although I doubt you've much favour with them, considering who your father is."

Wonderful. Just another thing to blame Father for. "So that deal...it'll follow me around for the rest of my life?"

"Like Naomi said, you can start by giving the head back to the vampires. Most humans stay in debt their whole lives because they make deals that they can't possibly hope to fulfill. And you already said the vampire seemed grateful to Marjorie for suggesting the idea in the first place." Wells shakes his head, then looks over at Naomi, sitting across from us. She raises an eyebrow back at him.

"What my brother's saying, Langdon, is that what Marjorie said may have showed the vampire that she does not think like her father, and therefore may have helped your case a little. And if the vampire asked you something reasonable instead of what we humans can't give them, giving them that head may show them you don't think like yours."

"And then?"

"It may save you from making a promise you can't keep. Not forever. Just until they decide they want to have you back in their debt."

"Speaking of keeping promises," says Wells, "we haven't officially agreed to help you. We will, on one condition."

I nod. "Of course."

"You let us plan it. I know you want to help, but getting your rapier stuck inside a Drowned Man the first time you meet one is not exactly stellar hunting skill. The only reason you're even being allowed to go is because you came to us with the problem."

"Wells, that's a bit harsh—" Naomi starts, but Wells holds up a hand to silence her.

"We've done things like this countless times on our hunts," he says. "You haven't. They've kept you so bloody sheltered inside that Institute, you're babes in the woods when you finish. Classes won't keep you alive, Wilkes. Experience will."

"Yes," I say. "Understandable."

"Your job is to convince Marjorie. She may have proposed the idea, but that doesn't mean she's sold on it. But we could use someone like her — she has natural hunters' instinct. Acts before thinking. Fights to survive. That's not something you see very often in young women these days...especially in the hunting world."

"All right," I say, relieved that I don't actually have to try and coordinate logistics for this. "I'll start on it right away."

"Good," says Wells, less severe than before. "You'd better."

"I promise you you'll learn, Langdon." Naomi stands to collect the tea things, which we're finished with now, and as she does she lays a hand on my shoulder. "A good hunter takes years to perfect his craft. Years. Wells here took at least four and a half before he could properly slay a ghoul. And they weren't even Drowned Men."

"Thank you, Naomi," Wells says through gritted teeth. "I think that's quite enough."

"Three for werewolves alone," she says in a stage whisper, and Wells's scowl deepens. "All I'm saying is that you don't learn it all at once. But you will learn it, I promise."

She squeezes my shoulder, then rubs it before she lets go and whisks the tray into the kitchen.

"So, for all your talk, you had to stumble around too?" I raise an eyebrow at him.

He slides forward and catches my face all in one movement. "Kindly shut up, Wilkes. Or I'll do it for you."

"Naomi told me about your time as a bike messenger," I say, and I see his face flush rapidly. "It's how you know London so well."

"Bloody hell, Naomi," he curses. Then to me, he says, "We're not discussing that. Ever again."

"You must still have the bike somewhere. Unless you—"

His mouth crushes against mine, stopping its movement. He grips my head tightly, hands buried deep in my hair, and I let myself fall headfirst into it. I seize the front of his waistcoat in my fists and yank him towards me. Without breaking the kiss he climbs onto my legs, his knees boxing in my hips. His lips move hotly and urgently against mine, and I can barely keep up. It's when his tongue darts into my mouth that a spear of burning cold shoots down through my core, and something that is probably my want rears its head. Wells feels it, and grinds his own against mine. I let out a grunt in the back of my throat and pull him closer, only to fumble the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt open, yank them from the waistband of his trousers, and flatten my palms on his bare torso.

He's tearing at mine before I know it, my collar and necktie hanging crooked as he runs his hands over my skin. I dig my fingers into his back and let him, pulling my mouth from his to kiss his neck. His hands clench handfuls of my shirt, and I hear him breathing my name into my hair. Not Wilkes, though.

Langdon, he's sighing. Langdon Langdon Langdon.

The sound of it drives me nearly insane. I want him, just like he wanted me, now. I want to tear off the rest of his clothes and for him to do the same to me, and I want him to be near me. Against me. No more barriers. And I know he wants the same thing.

"Bloody hell, Wilkes," he pants when he pulls away, shirt hanging halfway down his arms and exposing the lines of ink across his chest. He seizes my head in his hands and presses his forehead into mine. "Why didn't you say you wanted that earlier?"

"Because I don't," I say honestly. "Not until you start kissing me, anyway."

He grins in a slightly naughty way. "Then I'd better do it more often."