"There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights."
~ Bram Stoker, Dracula

↫ ↫ ✞ ↬ ↬

"He's gone," Lucy reported. "Out of our lives for good. We burned his head, and drowned his body. No trace of him remains. The sky is clear and the fog has evaporated. This day will see London's first glimpse of the sun in over a fortnight."

Relief emanated from her very cells. Lucy couldn't remember ever having felt solace to this extent; like being pulled from icy waters moments before drowning. Nothing could be more precious or delicious than that first gulp of cold, clear air.

Lucy pulled back the drapes covering Sir Wilhern's bedroom window, revealing the bright unveiled moon hanging in the sky. She smiled at the partial sphere, like it were an old friend.

Releasing the drape, she returned to her guardian's bedside, taking in the increasing improvement of his skin's color and composition. He was getting better.

"I want you to know, that I harbor no ill will toward you," Lucy told him. "I know you never intended for anyone to fall to harm, least of all your son. You loved him. I know that, just as he knew that. I will miss Arthur every day for as long as I walk this earth. And you are all I have left of him. I cannot be estranged from you. I have no desire to lose more of my loved ones."

Sir Wilhern watched her, hope shining in his eyes. He appeared to be holding his breath.

"You are forgiven," Lucy said. "I wish only to move past this, with you and I on the good and virtuous terms that we have always been. On one condition. That being: you never keep such a dire secret from me again."

Staring down at Sir Wilhern, Lucy raised an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips.

"Are we agreed?" she asked.

Sir Wilhern exhaled a whooshing breath. He nodded. "We are," he swore.

Lucy held out her hand for him to shake. He grasped it and pulled her toward him into a tight embrace.

"I am so proud of you, Lucy, my dear," he told her, his voice breaking. "So very proud. Your courage, your resolve...traits to be envied. You are the daughter I never had. And I love you. I hope you know that."

"I do," Lucy assured him. "And I love you, as well."

She kissed him on each cheek.

"I will regale you with the heroic tales of our adventures aboard The Prometheus later on," she promised. "But now, I have a date."

"At half past six in the morning?" Sir Wilhern inquired. "Oh, how very curious."

"I am a vampire," Lucy said, pride in her voice. "What is morning to you, is evening to me. And someone very dear to my heart has been waiting long enough."

She gave Sir Wilhern a coy smile, and he laughed, shooing her from the room.

"Give my best to the good doctor!" he called after her.

Skipping down the staircase with a childlike exuberance, Lucy made her way to the kitchen. Walking through the high arched doorway, she found Virgil and Evelyne joined at the mouth in the passionate throes of a... Well, some might call it a "kiss." To Lucy, it looked like they were trying to swallow each other's tongues.

She delicately cleared her throat.

"Will you be finished soon?" she asked in polite tones. "Or is your plan to commit a lovers' double suicide by asphyxiation? It's your choice, of course, but I prefer you both alive."

Their mouths separated with an audible popping sound. They grinned at each other, then at Lucy.

"Who is the Peeping Tom now, eh?" Virgil asked.

"At least I announced my presence before you began shedding your clothes," Lucy said, shrugging one shoulder. "You're welcome. And just so you know, I don't believe the table needs christening."

"Well, aren't you a cheeky little imp this morning?" Evelyne observed, smoothing back the stray hairs that served as proof of her recent amorous activities. "Could it have something to do with the death of your second betrothed, I wonder?"

Lucy went to the tea kettle on the range and poured herself a cup. She smiled. "You know, it just might," she agreed.

She took a sip of the steaming liquid and released a happy sigh.

"Have either of you seen Thomas?" she inquired.

"He was just in the loo, tidying up," Evelyne said. "I'm sure he won't be long."

Lucy sat at the table, teacup in hand, appraising the unique couple before her. A witch and a dhampir. Something for the storybooks.

"You two seem to be thriving," she remarked. "I'm glad something so joyous could come of our recent escapades."

"As am I," Virgil concurred.

He peppered Evelyne's cheek and neck with a descending string of kisses.

"I was just telling Evelyne, before you burst in, that my father would be completely enamored with her," the dhampir said. "Which is why I have no desire to introduce them. He'd liken to begin spouting sonnets, and she'd forget all about me."

"I very much doubt that, darling," Evelyne said, running her fingers through Virgil's silky hair. "You are the least forgettable man I've ever met."

"That is because you haven't met my father," he insisted.

"He writes sonnets, does he?" she asked. "A poet?"

"He has an undying love for all manners of art and literature," Virgil confirmed.

His statement piqued Lucy's curiosity. She remembered when he had first mentioned going to see his father in Prague. It had been right in this very room, two days that felt like an eternity ago.

"Virgil, who is your father?" Lucy asked. "Does he have a name?"

"Oh, he has gone by many names throughout his absurdly long life," the dhampir said, smiling just a bit. "All of them hush-hush, of course."

"Well?" Lucy prompted. "Omit his name for now. There must be something about him you can tell us."

"I'll admit, I'm curious as well," Evelyne said. "He writes sonnets and is most likely gorgeous beyond belief. What else?"

"His story is one for the ages," Virgil told them. "Many ages, truth be told. To write it all down is one of many lofty goals of mine. Though, I'd wager, it will be passed off as a vulgar fiction."

He winked at Lucy, and she smiled back at him.

"Well, I want to hear," Evelyne said. "The abridged version, perhaps? Come, dearest, indulge us."

"Yes, please?" Lucy begged, batting her eyelashes.

Virgil laughed, relenting. "Oh, very well," he chuckled. "The abridged version."

Evelyne grasped his hand in one of hers. The other, she held out to Lucy.

"Come, Lucy dear," she said, wiggling her fingers in invitation. "Take my hand."

Lucy pressed her lips together to stifle an oncoming laugh. "And why, exactly, should I do that?" she asked.

"It will improve the experience," was Evelyne's vague and coy reply. "You shall see. Trust me."

Shrugging and adopting a good-natured smile, Lucy took Evelyne's outstretched hand. Upon their touch, she had the immediate desire to close her eyes.

"My father was born around the year 500 B.C.," Virgil said, beginning his tale. "He was turned by his maker thirty-eight years later. For a variety of glaring reasons, he has remained anonymous for the vast majority of his time upon this earth, but every so often a period, a place, or even a person has inspired him to create a life. A human identity. It's difficult, of course, keeping a secret of such significance, and after ten or fifteen years in any fabricated life he must fake his death and disappear. Mortals become quite antsy when one among them appears not to age."

Lucy's eyelids drifted closed. She could see the silhouette of a tall, poised man passing slowly through the corridors of a great hall. She could not yet make out his face. He entered a room lit only by candles and sat at a crude desk. Lucy could smell...paper. The strong scent of ground wood emanating from old parchment and scrolls. This man was surrounded by them.

"Despite the risk of discovery, his unquenchable desire to create caused him to surface from time to time," Virgil's voice continued. It now sounded further away, and almost dreamlike. "Around the year 512 A.D. he had a successful stint as an artist of the Byzantine Empire, painting sacred images on sanded blocks of wood to display in the palace-like temples of what is now Constantinople."

Lucy could smell the paint. It was not the pigmented substance she knew, but egg tempera paint. Such a new concept at the time, but this man, Virgil's father, had remarkable command of it. He came into focus in her mind, his long-fingered hands steady as he applied thin, precise layers of the rich colors to the wood with an antiquated brush.

"In the early 1300s, my father fell in deep, heartwrenching love with Italy," Virgil's phantom voice continued. "The language, the fashion, the presentation, the art, and a human woman named Beatrice. He loved Beatrice most of all. So much, he wished to immortalize her."

Lucy could see Beatrice's smiling lips as Virgil's father cupped her cheek with a delicate hand. She smelled the exotic perfumes and ripened fruits. She felt Beatrice's excitement rather than apprehension regarding her new beau's request to meet only at night.

"He wrote an epic poem in Italian," Virgil went on, "depicting a journey through the three realms of the afterlife: Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven. Beatrice was written in, allegorical of course, representing divine revelation. And he even named one of the principal characters after me."

Lucy pondered this, dizzy from the thought of a being who had lived so long and assumed such a vast anthology of selves.

"Has he ever made a life in London?" she heard herself ask. Her voice, too, sounded far away.

"He did once. Yes," Virgil replied. "It was his favorite, as a matter of fact."

"I dare say," Evelyne remarked. "When was this?"

"Let's see..." Virgil pondered. "The late 1500s through the early 1600s."

"And what did he do?" Lucy queried, her eyes still closed.

"He took on the illustrious career of an actor and playwright," Virgil regaled. "Using his acquired knowledge of history, art, monarchs, and travel, my father went on to write thirty-nine plays and one hundred and fifty four sonnets for a company of players called the Lord Chamberlain's Men. He took his words to the stage with a passion and poetry that would never be equaled. He later told me, that fleeting interlude of his existence was the most alive he had ever felt."

Lucy could see the ink stains on the playwright's fingernails. She smelled parchment, and sawdust, and roast pig. She heard the thunder of applause. She saw the endless layers of colorful fabric that made up the women's gowns as they exited a theater called The Globe.

She saw Virgil's father, his dark hair parted severely in the center of his head, as was the style of the time. A white, ruffled collar chokered his neck, conveniently hiding the puncture wounds on his throat. She heard him thank his colleagues in humble tones as they congratulated him on another successful play, his smile of gratitude both proud and bashful. A smile she recognized...

Lucy was beside herself. Her eyes shot open, and she released Evelyne's hand.

The spell was broken, and the kitchen of Wilhern Manor reappeared around her.

"A playwright, in London, for the Lord Chamberlain's Men?" she repeated. "Virgil, was your father—?"

"Forgive me, Lucy," he said, cutting her off before she could complete her question. "I cannot reveal the names of any of my father's past identities. I gave my word."

He leaned in, whispering as though he were divulging the most hallowed of secrets.

"I will tell you, however, just between us, that during his all-too-brief career in London he was known as the 'Bard of Avon.' But his friends called him Will."

Virgil winked, stepping back.

Lucy's mouth fell open.

"Not that old story again," came a voice from the doorway.

Dr. Reed strode into the room, no trace of the night's battle visible on his person. He smiled at Lucy as he took his place beside her.

"But how was a playwright able to exist without venturing out into the day?" Evelyne asked. "To even think of the difficulty and inconvenience!"

Dr. Reed answered before Virgil could. "He often didn't, claiming he needed the daylight hours to write. But on the rare occasion when daytime activity was required, he drank the blood of his son. As the blood of a dhampir allows temporary alleviation of a vampire's intolerance to sunlight."

Virgil smiled.

"Well remembered, Thomas," the hunter said. "And an eloquent segue to my gift for Lucy."

"Gift?" Lucy repeated in confusion. "But I have yet to pay you for services rendered."

Virgil grinned, his smitten gaze hovering on Evelyne. "Oh, Lucy, you may consider yourself paid in full."

Evelyne combed her fingers through the silky locks of Virgil's hair, and his whole body vibrated with a dramatic shiver.

"In fact," he added, "I do believe I am at the better end of this transaction!"

He took Evelyne's face in both of his hands. He was dipping his lips to meet hers for a feverish kiss when Dr. Reed cleared his throat.

"Virgil?" Dr. Reed prompted. "You were saying about a gift?"

With a begrudging sigh, Virgil pulled away from Evelyne.

"Yes. That," he sighed. "Lucy, after all you have endured and survived, I thought you deserved to see a bit of the fog-less sky you succeeded in returning to London. And I thought you would enjoy it all the more with Thomas to accompany you."

Creating a small tear in his wrist, Virgil deposited several drops of his blood into a pair of teacups. The wound healed itself, and he handed the cups to Lucy and Dr. Reed.

"My gift to you," the dhampir said. "To you both. My blood. It will allow you to walk in the sun without burning."

Each cup contained enough blood for one swallow.

"Once you drink it, you'll have one hour of immunity at most, no more," Virgil cautioned. "Make every minute count."

An hour of sunlight. The thought alone made Lucy want to cry.

"What will you do with your hour?" Evelyne asked.

Lucy smiled up at Dr. Reed, and he graced her with a knowing smile of his own. "Watch the sun rise," she replied.

"How quaint," Evelyne commented. She ran her fingertips along the length of Virgil's face. "I can think of something so much more stimulating to do for an hour."

"Use me and abuse me, madam. I am yours," Virgil declared.

Evelyne grinned like a hungry wolf. "Prove it," she dared him.

Seizing the dhampir by the collar of his black coat, she marched from the room, pulling Virgil in her wake. Glancing back at Lucy, she called out: "Have fun!"

"Do everything we would do, you novice miscreants!" Virgil added.

Lucy laughed, shaking her head. "Insatiable!" she cried.

Alone in the kitchen, Lucy and Dr. Reed smiled at each other. They clinked their teacups together, and raised the porcelain to their lips, each swallowing the dhampir's blood.

• ✞ ✞ ✞ •

The dawn sky was a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors as Lucy and Dr. Reed made their way to the edge of the River Thames.

The fog had vanished, and the red sun was rising in the east, unobscured and radiant. The sky grew pink, then lavender, and finally blue as it stretched up from the horizon. Its light and colors reflected on the languid surface of the water, casting splendor over the morning from every angle.

Lucy couldn't believe her eyes. Had a sunrise ever been this beautiful during her short life? She found she could not recall. Everything prior to this moment was hazy and ashen by comparison.

"Breathtaking," Lucy said, her voice an amazed whisper.

Beside her, Dr. Reed nodded, his expression of awe mirroring hers.

"It is," he agreed. "Unimaginably so. I thought my days of beholding the rising sun were long since over. This is a true gift. And I would wish to experience it in the company of no one else."

He turned to her, his face divine in the golden light of morning.

A wave of ardor and devotion swept over Lucy, causing her heart to swell in her chest. She had lost so much. Yet, in the stead of that loss had come gains she could never have imagined.

Seizing her courage, she willed herself to speak.

"Thomas, there is something I must say. But as we have so recently met, I fear this may be rather premature..."

She trailed off, uncertain how to continue.

As always, Dr. Reed came to her aid.

"Lucy," he said, his voice gentle, "we have already lived through a lifetime's worth of trials and tribulations together. For us, there is no 'premature.' Please, speak candidly."

Her nerves grappling with her tenacity, Lucy fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. She took a deep breath.

"Well, in plainest truth," she said, "it is quite possible that I've fallen in love with you."

She squeezed her eyes shut, poised for disgrace due to her blunt admission.

Much to her surprise, Dr. Reed began to chuckle. The sound rang out through the crisp air, pleasant and warm.

"Well, thank goodness for that," he said. "For I have been in love with you since the moment you scolded me for calling you a vampire."

Lucy gaped at him, astonished. "You have?" she asked.

"Yes, I have. I love you, Lucy," Dr. Reed confessed. "Your unpolluted and vibrant mind is a rarity to be eternally cherished. You restored my faith in this world and reassembled my broken pieces. Now I am able to give you my whole and untarnished heart. It's yours, should you want it."

Blinking back tears she wasn't aware had formed, Lucy threw her arms around Dr. Reed's neck. Standing on her toes, she brought her lips to his. He accepted and returned her show of affection in kind, his lips moving against hers with an innocuous desire that spread through the whole of her body and soul.

This kiss, so contrary to their first, was slow, and sweet, yet no less impassioned.

They parted with heady reluctance, their breathing shallow and their eyes filled with longing.

Still enveloped in his arms, Lucy rested her head against Dr. Reed's chest. Had he a heartbeat, it would have been all she could hear.

Beyond them, the sun continued to rise, its warmth cutting through the chill of the early London morning.

Lucy felt the sun's light on her skin. She smiled.

Safe in the comfort of one another's embrace, the pair remained by the river for as long as they dared.

That day, Lucy Penn and Thomas Reed witnessed a new dawn.

Together.

~ Fin ~

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