Chapter Text
The email might as well have been in another language. She was here. Not in her flat, where he could only see her through a screen. Not at the café, where he would get maybe five minutes with her. Here. In his estate. Within mere touching distance.
Although, there was no pleasure in how she came here. His heart almost stopped at the sight of her still, prone figure on the floor. Veloura’s banging on the door had been the thing that brought him back. The transportation circle he carved nearby had him there in minutes, blood thrumming through him and drowning out whatever Veloura said as he ripped the ‘security’ circle away and forced the door open.
Scooping her into his arms, where she hadn’t made a single noise at being disturbed, he’d opened a portal connected to the nearest hospital and walked through. The blood had drained from the nurse’s face when she saw them. And as if sitting under the headache-inducing lighting for two hours hadn’t been enough, the doctor had fumbled his way through a long-winded explanation, eyes darting towards the fire exit the entire time. All he’d had to say was that she hadn’t suffered any head injuries, everything else could be managed by Hilda.
And that led them to now. Did she like her room? He wasn’t precious about changing any of it if she didn’t. Not that she would be there for long. His room was much more spacious and had more closet space. Or rather, their room.
There was a light knock on the door.
‘Come in.’
Agnes walked through, closing the door and standing in front of it. ‘As you requested, I removed the shaving blades and scalpels from her belongings before I put them in her bathroom. I was about to show Miss Fallow the scrolls but she started looking unwell, so I told her to go to bed and I’d bring her something to eat. Poor thing’s completely fallen asleep. I don’t think she’d wake up even if I shook her.’
He stiffened. ‘Call Hilda and tell her it’s an emergency. I want her here within the hour. I’ll go watch over Cynthia.’
Chilled fingertips caressed her forehead, then brushed her cheek. God, she was thirsty. What happened with… wasn’t Agnes bringing tea? And what was that smell? It was like jasmine… no, warmed jasmine after a bout of summer rain. She snuggled further into the pillow, cool silk rubbing against her skin.
The fingers disappeared. No, don’t go! She let out a whine, not stopping until they were back. A palm cupped her cheek, thumb brushing over her lips, the soothing scent tickling her nose.
Better, so much better.
Hushed voices forced a groan out of her. Her limbs weighed a thousand tonnes, eyelids just as heavy, but someone decided to have a conversation near her? Talk about inconsiderate. Blissful, dead-to-the-world sleep was right there, if they could shut up for one minute–
A door closed, silence following. Finally. Now she could fall back into–
A hand jostled her with all the energy of someone shaking a protein drink. ‘Cynthia, you need to get up now.’ The voice was prim and brooked no argument.
Forcing her eyes open and blinking a few times, the woman came into view. A black pencil skirt and blue chiffon shirt peeked through the long white coat covering it. A lab coat. Is that what you called them? The thing that scientists and doctors wore?
‘Cynthia, look at me.’
She looked further up, but with the heaviness in her head, it was a struggle. Lime-green eyes peered at her face, the young woman’s long platinum hair pulled back in a tasteful updo using a gold claw clip, her pointed ears on display. Ah, she was an elf. A sophisticated, beautiful one at that, but then beautiful elves were like fish in the sea: they were everywhere. But her being an elf meant…
‘You’re a doctor.’ Was that her voice? Bloody hell, it was as rough as she felt.
‘Well, if you can put two and two together, you’re not as bad as Corvin thinks you are. That’s something at least.’ She perched on the edge of an oversized grey wingback chair adjacent to the bed. Had that been there earlier? It was almost amusing. If she sat back any further, her black stilettos would be swinging beneath her. ‘Can you get up by yourself? No need to stand, sitting up is perfectly fine.’
So Hilda and Mr Thornveil were on a first name basis. She nodded and manoeuvred into a sitting position, making sure not to wince. ‘Sounds like you and Mr Thornveil are close,’ she said, trying to keep her voice even.
‘We’ve worked together for a long time, and been friends for even longer.’
‘So… so you guys are friends then. Friendly with each other, and all that.’ God, she sounded stupid. It would’ve been better if she’d just asked outright!
Hilda tilted her head and regarded her. ‘That’s what I said.’ She paused. ‘And I’m thankful that he’s a friend. A rigid man like him would drive me insane. I’ve never let him set me up with anyone out of fear he’d give me someone like him.’ She smiled. ‘And you can tell him I said that. I’ve always thought he needs someone who isn’t put off by his sullenness.’
Oh. ‘I don’t think he’s that bad,’ she said, the words coming out soft.
‘Maybe,’ Hilda said, something like amusement glinting in her eyes.
A wave of heat rushed through her. She leaned back against the wood headboard, and closed her eyes, more to get away from Hilda than anything. Although, if her body could sink through the mattress, it would. Why was she so tired?
‘No sleeping. I have a few questions I need to ask you and then you can rest.’ The doctor crossed one leg over the other, graceful as a swan on a lake, her spine as straight as a ruler. With a snap of her fingers, a clipboard with paper and a pen appeared, and she balanced it on her knee.
‘What makes you think I’m going to answer you?’ For all she knew, the doctor was here to assess her organs’ viability.
‘Because that’s what I’m here for. I’m a doctor and you’re unwell. Sounds about right, doesn’t it?’
‘How do you know I’m unwell? Who are you? For all I know, you’re a dentist who’s still smarting about not getting into medicine and looking to “prove themselves”. My organs won’t make for good donations by the way.’
An unexpected smile spread across her face, softening her features and making her much more approachable. ‘I’m Hilda. I work for Corvin as a private doctor. I’m happy to show you my degree and certificates to prove that I am actually a doctor. I don’t have anything to prove that I haven’t been a dentist though, so you’ll have to take my word for it. And I’m only concerned about your organs in terms of how they function for you.’
Well, it’s nice to know she has a sense of humour at least. ‘Sounds like something an organ harvester would say. If they work for me, who’s to say they wouldn’t work for someone else?’ Although, the receiver probably wouldn’t enjoy what they’d inherit.
Hilda raised a manicured eyebrow. ‘Are they working for you?’
‘They must be if I’m here and talking about them.’ Then again, being in this room wasn’t a good sign. If she was sick enough to collapse, maybe her organs weren’t okay. Oh no. She’d never get a transplant.
‘That’s not true, but judging by your face, you’ve come to that realisation yourself. Well, you don’t need to worry. Your blood tests show your organs seem to be functioning well, all things considered.’
She frowned. ‘All things considered?’
Hilda’s smile dimmed a bit. ‘Your white blood cells are quite high, and there were traces of some very strong antibiotics in your system.’
Fuck. ‘Makes sense, being unwell and all that.’
Something flickered over her expression. ‘Is there an underlying health condition that could explain your results?’
Hilda might be a good doctor with the way she pushed for answers. Straight to the point. Firm without being demanding. No condescension – not yet, anyway. Her patients probably cried in gratitude while giving her loaded Christmas hampers because she was so nice. She seemed like a citrusy marmalade kind of person. Not a basic one though, something that cost ten pounds a jar.
Hilda gazed at her without blinking.
‘I’m not dying.’ Unfortunately.
‘That’s not what I asked, Cynthia. I could’ve pulled your records but I didn’t because I wanted to get to know you as you know yourself, health and all.’ She waved her hand, the pen and clipboard vanishing.
‘Isn’t that highly illegal?’ Not that she could sue. Going to court would likely leave her homeless. It was the principle of it more than anything.
Hilda smirked. ‘Did you tick a box that said you consent to sharing your information with all your medical providers?’
Ah yes, the devil in the details. ‘... Maybe.’
‘Then it would’ve been all above board if I’d done it.’ She leaned forward, smirk gone. ‘Look, if you tell me what’s going on, I promise to look after you the best I can.’ She smiled again. ‘I come highly rated by all my patients.’
Look at her, being right for once. She looked down at the duvet, and fiddled with the edge. ‘... You’ll tell him.’
‘Tell who?’
She shifted. ‘Mr Thornveil,’ she whispered.
A pause. She didn’t dare look up.
Would there be surprise? Over her caring about what he thought of her? Maybe pity? That someone like her li– had some sort of feeling for Mr Thornveil? Hilda probably saw loads of women around him batting their eyelashes and dropping flirty comments. Healthy, slim women who had more to offer: more money, a better education, better family. They might come from a family that liked them instead of tolerating them.
‘Cynthia, look at me.’
She bit the inside of her cheek and lifted her head.
There was a tender look in Hilda’s eyes. ‘I won’t tell him anything other than what he needs to know – which is the bare minimum. It’s your decision what you choose to share with him, not mine. And I can understand why you’d be concerned about sharing anything with him. Even for a vampire, he’s–’
‘A vampire?!’ Her mouth fell open.
The tenderness vanished, a blank expression replacing it. ‘You didn’t know? That… explains some things. Does him being a vampire upset you?’
Was she upset by it? ‘I–I don’t know. I mean, a part of me hoped that maybe he was something less invested in… in blood.’ Like a sorcerer or someone who didn’t have the nose of a bloodhound.
‘I see. Well, if you’re happy with it, I can discuss it with him. Despite how he seems, Corvin is a reasonable person. If I ask him to let you go home, he will, and I can ask him to leave you alone.’
Wait, what? ‘But I don’t want him to leave me alone!’ It took a moment to register what she’d said, and then heat filled her face.
Hilda frowned. ‘But I thought you said you didn’t like him being “invested in blood”, as you put it.’
‘Well, yes!’ She clenched the sheets. ‘It’ll be worse. So much worse. He’ll be… disgusted. He won’t be able to stand being around me.’
Her frown deepened. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
She grit her teeth. ‘It’s… it’s my thing. My condition. It’s autoimmune, and… and…it’s really gross. He’ll hate me.’ His glare would turn glacial. ‘He’ll think I’m disgusting. He wasted all his time on me.’ He might curse her out, or throw her out onto the street. She didn’t even know where she was. ‘No, it’s better I leave. I’ll leave and never see him again. I should quit and work somewhere else too, so he can still get his coffee there. Or maybe he won’t even want to go–’
‘Cynthia!’ The hand on her shoulder squeezed. A blurry Hilda stood over her.
She blinked. When had she started crying?
Fingers snapped, and a box of tissues appeared. ‘Take a deep breath. Corvin isn’t the type of person to do that to someone he’s taken in.’
‘You don’t know that. I’m like a stray he’s interested in for the moment. When he realises I’m sick – really sick – he’ll be horrified. Like I’m a raccoon he’s picked up, except I have rabies.’
Hilda frowned. ‘Anyone picking up a raccoon shouldn’t be surprised they have rabies. Apparently twenty percent of them have it.’
‘Oh. That’s sad.’
‘Yes, well, I’m more concerned about why you just compared yourself to an infected racoon. Be honest with me, Cynthia, what’s going on?’ She didn’t move. Hilda would remain there until the world ended. Or that’s what her stance said.
It was okay. She could tell her. She was a doctor and… and she’d said she wouldn’t tell Mr Thornveil. But did she mean it? ‘... hidradenitis suppurativa.’ Her lips barely moved as she said it. Either way, it would be better to come out with it. Face the rejection and get it over with – and that went for both Hilda and Mr Thornveil.
‘As you can imagine, with the kind of patients I see, it’s not as common as it is in humans, but I know of it.’ To Hilda’s credit, her expression didn’t change. ‘I assume it’s quite extensive considering how you came to be here. On a scale of one to ten, how bad is your pain on a daily basis?’
Shit. In reality, she’d say an eight or nine, but that was being overdramatic. There were people around the world suffering from all sorts of pain, and theirs was probably much worse than hers. What number said that she felt pain but it wasn’t that bad?
‘Uh, I think a seven?’
Hilda’s eyebrows rose. ‘And you’re working with that level of pain? What painkillers are you taking?’
Damn it, she should’ve said a five or a six. ‘Um, I don’t really take painkillers. They don’t do anything.’
Her eyebrows remained raised. ‘You don’t take any painkillers? None? Even when the abscesses burst?’
Even when the abscesses burst? She winced. The bluntness was a punch to the stomach. When she spoke to her own doctors, it was a fight to talk about it without crying hysterically.
Tenderness returned to Hilda’s face. ‘I’m starting to understand what’s going on. Listen, I’m here to help you. As I said, I won’t say anything to Corvin except for the bare minimum. However, I’ll need to take a look at the wound sites to assess the extent of your autoimmune condition.’
The tears came thick and fast, blurring the room, but a dull ache in her throat stopped any sound from escaping. It stopped her breathing. The bedsheets probably cost two months of food. Her thigh throbbed, a stabbing pain working its way up her leg. If she stayed here any longer, she’d get blood on them. It was inevitable. It ruined everything. Every fucking thing. God, she shouldn’t be here. Her flat. She needed to go home and be alone. Away from people. Away from Cor–
Hilda squeezed her shoulder. ‘I promise you – Cynthia, look at me – I promise you I don’t think any less of you because of your condition. And I’ve dealt with a lot of wounds in my long, long life so far. You won’t be the first nor the last.’
That didn’t mean–
‘Please, Cynthia. Let me help you. Please,’ she said, the pleading tone soft enough to pierce through her roiling emotions.
Help. The desperate part of her, the part that choked on screams for help, had been slapped, punched and kicked to the bottom of her soul ever since this disease had first appeared. But did she deserve help? And what did it mean that Mr Thornveil had brought Hilda here? It was all so… so… difficult to understand. So there was only one thing to do.
She gritted her teeth and nodded.