Chapter Text
It’s about three days into their journey to find Sypha’s Speaker caravan that the bone-deep, all-consuming, brain-fucking rush of terror finally subsides - and Trevor and Sypha realise that leaving Alucard alone with the shattered remains of his family home might’ve been a bad idea.
Trevor stops poking the embers of the fire at roughly the same time Sypha stops making shapes from the flames, but it takes both of them a few minutes to notice each other.
‘Maybe leaving Alucard alone wasn’t the most sensible,’ ventures Sypha.
‘Yes,’ murmurs Trevor. The end of his stick is starting to burn. ‘That might not have been our best move.’
‘You think he’s going to be okay?’
‘Alone at the site where his father almost killed him, and we finished his father off for him?’ Trevor wrinkles his nose. ‘I’m sure he can shrug it off.’
‘Same way you shrugged it off?’ says Sypha.
‘Sure.’
Sypha gives him ten seconds before that big Belmont heart spills over, and sure enough; ‘I think we need to find your family, and let them know you survived. We’re about a day out from intercepting them - we might not get another good chance to catch them if we turn back now.’
Sypha folds her arms into her sleeves. ‘Good point. I’m just… I didn't think. It's not like he would have asked us to stay if he needed someone there - I should have thought of that.’
Trevor taps the stick in the fire. ‘Don't beat yourself up. I didn't think of it either.’
‘But that's because you're an idiot. I'm the brains in our duo.’
Trevor kicks dirt at her, and Sypha blows it away with a giggle and a sweep of her hand.
‘We should head back as soon as we can,’ she concludes. ‘I would like to know my family is okay.’
‘Yes. To be honest, I don't want them to wonder about you for one second longer than they have to.’
Sypha smiles. ‘You do care.’
‘Don't tell Alucard about me giving a single shit for him,’ says Trevor. ‘We both know he won't shut up once he gets started on it.’
‘Of course not.’
* * *
They walk their cart into an inhabited town the next day, when the sun is at its highest.
This little hamlet has been luckier than most. While a number of wooden buildings have been burnt down to charred stumps and shattered hearthstones, it seems the bulk of the village has survived. More amazingly there seem to be a fair number of people left alive, fishing stones out of burnt heaps to repair smashed stonework, or up on roofs patching up torn thatch.
The biggest indicator of luck is that this village has finished burying their dead by now. Sypha and Trevor have passed through numerous villages where the survivors have given up and started enormous bonfires of corpses, monster and man thrown in together - or abandoned the village entirely, leaving bodies to bloat and blacken in the sun.
They make it to the village green which has patches of scorched earth and great muddy gouges in it, but enough grass left for some wiley goats and a traumatised looking mule. Trevor unhitches the horses to graze while Sypha wanders off to ask for information, maybe even find signs her caravan had passed through here.
Trevor’s leading the horses to a stone trough half-full of brackish water when suddenly there’s screams of delight from across the green. He looks up just in time to see Sypha and a small pack of Speakers crash headlong into each other, tumbling into a pile of hugs and yelling. He recognises a grey-haired Speaker walking towards the heap - Sypha’s grandfather.
Trevor makes it about three-quarters of the way across the green before Sypha surfaces from the pile, pointing at him like she’s about to cast a spell, and before he can run back to the horses he’s been flattened by a pile of Speakers all yelling his name.
Considering the most body contact he’s had in the last month has been desperate fights with vampires, the sensation of bodies on top of him makes him internally scream.
Trevor is not good with people at the best of times, and frankly the last two months have annihilated whatever reserves of social graces he had. His normal reflex would be to punt the eighteen year old boy on top of him directly into a wall, but now, well, a lot has changed in two months. Sypha would be upset if he tried something like that.
Thankfully, Trevor manages to squirm free, probably because the Speakers that tackled him have realised that perhaps it is not wise to tackle a man who is always heavily armed and is far too used to being constantly attacked.
Instead multiple people grab his hands and grin up at him whilst slapping his shoulders - which is better, but not by much. Trevor’s heart pounds in his chest. To have ten people overjoyed to see him is such an unfamiliar experience that it feels like a trap of some kind. He tries to suppress that feeling, putting on the tattered remains of his best manners for Sypha’s family, but he still finds himself shadowing her like he’s expecting an attack and wants covering fire.
Everyone is trying to speak to them at once and it’s too much, too loud, after so long of being wary of every bastard that looks at him, after two months of godless abominations from the bestiary howling after him and the two people he’d consider friends –
Eventually he notices that Sypha’s grandfather has a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Sypha is squeezing his hands, looking up at him with big worried eyes.
‘Trevor?’
He swallows, mouth dry. ‘Sorry, uh, th-there was just a lot of people, very fast.’
‘That is understandable,’ says Grandfather Elder Speaker, because Trevor realises he doesn't actually know the man’s name. ‘Are you okay? We have rooms at the inn if you wish to rest.’
‘Actually, now that you mention it, I think sitting down would be a great idea,’ mumbles Trevor. ‘I'm beginning to think Alucard had the right idea with his plan to sleep into the next century.’
‘How is Alucard?’ pipes up another of the Speakers, a young man with russet red hair.
Sypha glances at Trevor, holding up one hand.
‘Take us to this inn so I can stable Trevor, and I will tell you everything that happened.’
* * *
Trevor keeps a hold of Sypha’s hand as the flock of Speakers and single lone Belmont make their way to the inn. Sypha gets lovingly attacked by a few more Speakers as they approach the building. It looks like they’d been working on repairing a hole in an exterior stone wall of the inn and cleaning up the charcoal remains of the stable.
As they’re led inside amongst the wall of chatter, Trevor deduces that the Speakers are helping the lone innkeeper fix damage in exchange for food and board. She looks exhausted, the poor thing, but she immediately brightens up a little at the sight of them and trudges off to get them some drink and food.
Sypha’s first move is to locate the comfiest chair in the inn - a stout canvas sling affair - and gently park Trevor in it. If it’d been anyone else, he’d be mighty pissed about being led around like a cow, but it’s Sypha. When you dive headfirst into Dracula’s castle and cause the grisly dispatch of hundreds of vampires with someone by your side, it's hard not to forge a bond with them.
He didn’t realise how tired he was until he sat down. Exhaustion floods through his bones, and he suddenly feels like he’s under a blanket filled with stones. He takes a couple of deep breaths to try and wake himself up, but Trevor is starting to drift.
Sypha’s commandeered another chair so she can sit next to Trevor. The rest of the Speaker caravan have hauled all of the tables and chairs in around them to listen.
Sypha starts at the moment they waved goodbye at the gates of Gresit, and then does what she does best: speak history.
She has a beautiful voice. Her flair for telling stories and expressing ideas is the same as the flames she conjures and uses so expertly. Brilliant and powerful. Trevor could listen to her speak until the end of the world. His eyes are starting to droop shut, lulled by her musical, lilting voice.
She’s up to the few days they spent hunting through the Belmont family library when the innkeeper pats Trevor’s shoulder to wake him up, and hands him a bowl of stew on a wooden tray. Then she sits herself down with the rest of the Speakers, just as spellbound by Sypha as they are.
Trevor wakes up enough to realise their audience has grown. A few haggard locals equally as wrecked as the innkeeper have pulled up chairs. Outside the windows the sun is sinking into the mountains. Someone’s thrown another log on the fire.
He sleepily eats his stew, feeling himself wake up a little. And now he realises people are starting to look at him.
Actually, they’re looking at both him and Sypha, but he can fucking feel their gazes on him. After so long of lying low and trying not to get killed for being a Belmont, this is incredibly uncomfortable.
But he realises it’s not suspicion, or hatred, or fear. He can see cogs turning. People putting pieces together. The waves of monsters have stopped, and what this Speaker is saying –
Sypha’s up to the part where she was performing her herculean feat of dragging Dracula’s goddamn castle to their front door, and she’s going all out on describing how Trevor kept that night’s pack of horrors at bay.
‘I cannot emphasise how important Trevor has been in all this,’ says Sypha. ‘He smells like a dead horse, and he’s still a bit of an asshole, but he fights like the Devil himself and his heart is true.’
Trevor’s face grows hot as he shovels stew into his mouth, mumbling; ‘Aw, fucking hell Sypha.’
* * *
Despite the embarrassment and dawning comprehension of the small crowd that had gathered for Sypha’s story, exhaustion had evidently won out at some point for Trevor and he’d fallen asleep, dead to the world.
He wakes up with a morning sunbeam drilling directly into his eyes, but he feels okay. Not like he’s just whored himself out to Death itself, like he usually does. He’s only this sober because he had something to eat last night and didn’t try to drink the whole bar.
He’s still in the canvas sling chair, but someone has deftly tucked a pillow behind his head, and thrown a slightly moth-eaten woollen blanket over him. He wonders if it was Sypha.
Both him and the chair creak as he gets up, and folds the blanket to leave it in the chair. The place is still and empty with the front door locked. Early morning sun is streaming through cracks in the shutters. Dust motes float in the shafts of light. Somewhere outside, he can hear thrushes warbling.
He’s still adjusting to peaceful mornings that are devoid of blood and horror.
Using the dim morning light, he finds his way around. Nobody’s sleeping on the floor, but he can hear muffled snoring from upstairs. The fire has burned down to a pile of ashes and a few glowing embers.
Trevor’s spent so many years silently slipping out of inns, out of towns, that he’s not sure what to do in this situation. There’s no immediate threat, and he doesn’t have to skip town for any reason. After a moment’s thought, he decides that finding Sypha would be a good start.
He pads upstairs. He’s not sure if he should be making noise to let them know he’s coming, so he doesn’t get immolated by accident, or if he should be quiet in case there’s someone hostile upstairs – or just because the Speakers should get some more sleep.
A lifetime ago he would tiptoe quietly up ancient staircases in a family hall in the early morning, so as to not wake his sisters.
The top floor is a hallway with a row of rooms for rent, and the snoring is louder up here. There’s four doors, and all of them are closed so all have to be full then.
He sits for a minute to listen to the snoring. He’s spent enough nights sleeping between Sypha and a campfire to know what her snoring sounds like. He’ll never tell her but she sounds like a raspy old dog growling. Even through the door he can tell she’s asleep in room two.
Well, the question is, now what?
He’s presented with an immediate solution in the form of someone moving around downstairs.
Moving quietly down the steps, still in the habit of being on high alert, he finds the innkeeper throwing open the shutters and getting ready for the day. Not wanting to frighten her Trevor makes his tread heavier, deliberately stepping on the squeaky centre part of the steps.
She looks over her shoulder, and she smiles when she spots him. ‘Good morning - Trevor, wasn't it?’
‘Yeah,’ he mumbles. ‘Trevor. I never caught your name, sorry.’
‘Rose. Must say, I'm mighty glad you two made it back here. This whole caravan was worried sick about all of you.’
Trevor shuffles over to the bar, claiming a stool. ‘Well, I had to let her family know she was okay, Rose. None of us had any idea if we’d survive.’
‘They were awfully worried about you, too, I must say. Every day it was about Trevor and Sypha–’ Rose pauses, thinking, ‘–and Alucard?’
Trevor hesitates. ‘I will be honest. I fell asleep before Sypha could finish her story, so I don’t exactly know how much Sypha told you.’
‘I know about Alucard. Sypha’s a Speaker - she gave us a very good recount. Is– Is he really the-’
‘Whatever she told you about Alucard is true.’
‘His father was Dracula?’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’
‘And both his parents are dead now?’
‘Yep.’
She nods sagely, which isn’t the reaction Trevor was expecting, and then says firmly; ‘You need to go back to him as soon as you can.’
Trevor blinks, and she continues; ‘You did the right thing, coming back to let the Speakers know you were all okay. But Alucard has just lost all of his family. In that situation a person needs support. I might not know much about monster fighting, and I don’t know anything about vampires, but I do know that when you lose people - and in such a way, too! Horrible.’ She shakes her head, failing to notice Trevor cringing into his shirt. ‘I can’t imagine what your relationship all is, but he needs people he loves around him, now more than ever. And it’s clear that Sypha cares for both of you very much.’
‘I care about them a lot too,’ mumbles Trevor. He can feel his face going red. Why is this conversation going like this?!
‘Then you need to go back and tell him. Because he needs to hear that right now, possibly more so than any other time in his life.’
‘Yes ma'am.’
* * *
Trevor goes out to catch the horses off the green, and finds that at some point during the night, persons unknown took their covered wagon and parked it next to the inn along with removing the horses strappings. All of the horses’ tack has been oiled and lovingly folded inside the swept cart.
Trevor stares at it with narrowed eyes for a while. Logic dictates that someone (or several someones) took it upon themselves to do some kindly maintenance work after hearing Sypha’s story. Several months of grim bloody fighting of undead horrors means Trevor can’t silence the part of himself chittering that demons cleaned their gear in the night.
He takes the bridles and catches the two horses who are looking much better for having a night’s good rest and a feed. By the time he’s led them back to the inn and hitched them to the wagon, the entire caravan of Speakers has spilled out into the street along with Rose and a gathering of curious townsfolk. Trevor recognises a few of them from the inn last night.
Sypha and her caravan are saying their goodbyes when Rose takes the moment to jump Trevor. She pushes a battered basket covered with a scrap of hessian into his arms.
‘For the road,’ she says firmly, in a way that Trevor knows he can’t easily refuse. ‘Bottle of wine in there for when you meet up with Alucard again. Just– because thank you.’
‘Oh, um…’ Trevor is so unused to being thanked for things that he doesn’t really know how to respond. He eventually settles on an awkward; ‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’
‘Frankly, it’s the least I can do.’
‘You really didn’t have to-’
‘Oh, a packed lunch?’ exclaims Sypha from Trevor’s shoulder and he just about shits himself in surprise. He hadn’t heard her approach them at all. ‘Thank you so much! I was trying to figure out how we were going to resupply.’
Rose beamed. ‘It was no trouble. It’s been a horrible time, but, well - according to you, the danger has passed, and we have food to spare.’
Sypha gives Rose a hug while Trevor weaves back through the Speakers to load the basket into the covered section of the cart. Several Speakers pat him fondly on the back as he walks past, and Trevor tries to smile and not look rattled.
He’s never going to admit this to anyone, let alone Sypha, but her observations on Trevor being a bit fucked up were right. He’s only just recently entered a point in his life where he can admit to himself that he’s a bit fucked up, and he’s not about to dig deeper into that. When you have a big precariously-stacked pile of rusty knives, and you accidentally bump one out of the pile without hurting yourself or knocking the whole horrific clusterfuck over, you don’t immediately go taking more knives out of it. If you want to take apart that pile of terrible knives you have to be very careful and take your time.
But despite everything he’s glad they came out here. Sypha needed to see her family, and they needed to see her - and he reckons it did all parties involved a lot of good. Even Trevor can recognise the sheer relief coming from all of them - just knowing they all survived.
Sypha needed this. She’s in much better shape now.
Now they’ve got to go back to the castle and be the family that Alucard needs.
* * *
The castle - you can’t really call it “Dracula’s Castle” anymore, too many bad connotations - looms so damn big that they can see it towering in the distance before they even crest the hills into the valley.
It seems slightly less sinister now. Perhaps because of what's happened, or perhaps because it's a fine sunny day for once - or maybe because Trevor knows Alucard is down there.
He can see the spires of the Belmont ruins peeping above the treeline. Is it just him, or does there seem to be less ruined walls?
‘Do you think he's all right down there?’ murmurs Sypha. She's leaning forward, peering down like she might be able to pick Alucard out from all the way up here.
‘Well, I can't see any raging fires,’ observes Trevor. ‘No colossal fountains of blood.’
‘Good start I guess,’ says Sypha dryly.
So they roll their way down the mountain pass into the valley, following the shadow of the castle.
Trevor is on edge for the whole trip down. There’s no signs of danger lurking between the evergreen trees, but something still gnaws at the pit of Trevor’s stomach. It’s probably mostly guilt, to be honest.
Is Alucard okay? Trevor has never had the pleasure to see a truly maddened vampire - Dracula was the closest he’d ever like to get, thank you very much - but he’s read more than enough Belmont hunting logs about vampires going feral. Dracula had only lost one loved one. And Dracula didn’t have to kill her himself, either.
They shouldn’t have left Alucard alone. They were all being stupid and not thinking, having survived what they had all thought would be a suicide mission, but that was no excuse. Alucard had been grieving. And they had just left.
By the time the Belmont ruins are in sight, Trevor’s made himself feel physically ill with worry and guilt.
Sypha was evidently feeling the same way, leaning forward to scour what she could see. ‘Where is he? Would he be in the castle?’
‘Possibly…’
As they clear the trees, Trevor is scanning the ruins, looking for any sign of life. ‘I’m not seeing any smoke. Don’t know if that’s good or bad.’
Trevor knows there’s a stable on the ground floor of the castle, with a couple of loose boxes that they cleaned out and set up specifically for these two cart horses. Trevor starts to thread them around the standing stone walls, aiming for the stables.
And they immediately spot signs of life. There’s bare patches of dirt in the overgrown grass where long-fallen stones have been carefully removed. Through gaps in the walls Trevor can see the interior of the ruins has been cleared of debris. And he can see no sign of the fallen timbers or tonnes of stone and shards they had left only a few weeks ago.
Until they get to where the gaping wound in the ground where the entrance to the Belmont library had been, and then it’s all obvious.
The debris from the fight has all been carefully cleared away, and the giant hole has been backfilled and rammed solid to form a slight hill. There’s a stout little weatherboard cabin perched on top. Some of the weatherboards are freshly-cut timber, but some of it has clearly been reclaimed from the ruins. Trevor just stares - this would have taken a whole team of builders and navvies months to complete.
The wooden slab door creaks open on its wooden hinges, and there’s Alucard’s goddamn sword floating just inside, pointed directly at them and rotating slowly, like it’s got a mind of its own.
Trevor automatically has his hand on the handle of the morningstar whip, but then he spies the glint of golden hair and an angry squinting glare just over the threshold. Then Alucard relaxes, both him and the sword disappearing into a stone-lined hole in the ground.
Sypha is off the cart and striding over before Trevor’s even managed to pull the horses to a complete stop. Alucard slowly floats out of the stone lined hole, into the light, and Trevor just stares because this is the most dishevelled he’s ever seen Alucard.
He’s in a white linen shirt and black pants, barefoot, and he’s absolutely streaked with dirt from head to toe. His shirt is a muddy disaster, soaked through with sweat and clinging to his biceps, his panting chest, his thighs–
As Alucard emerges into the sunlight, Trevor realises he’s put his hair up into a messy braid. It’s full of dust and dirt, but it’s still that beautiful wheat-gold, a few curls escaping to frame his grime-smeared face.
‘Good god!’ says Sypha. ‘What have you been up to?’
Alucard smiles that beautiful rare smile of his, looking a little sheepish. ‘My apologies. I didn’t know when you were coming back. I would have cleaned up otherwise.’
Trevor climbs down from the cart, experimentally testing the fresh earth he’s standing on. It’s rock-solid, compacted incredibly hard as if it were the dirt in a well-trodden town square. Very stable.
Sypha gestures around, stunned. ‘Did you do all this?’
Alucard nods, still smiling. He looks quietly pleased with himself. ‘I didn’t want to just leave the library open to the elements. The whole entryway was destroyed - if it had rained, everything directly underneath it would have become waterlogged.’
Trevor walks over, still inspecting the earthworks. ‘Hang on, so you’ve what, filled in the entrance to the library?’
Alucard shook his head. ‘I tried to rebuild it as much as possible. The walls are all properly shored up, and I fixed the stairs and balconies. It’s rather rough, but you can get to the library without having to rappel down on a rope.’
The cogs are turning in Trevor’s brain, as Sypha asks incredulously. ‘You–Alucard, exactly how much have you done?’
There’s a twinkle in his eye, and Alucard looks even more smug than usual, the git. He beckons them towards the weatherboard hut. ‘Come and I’ll show you.’
They make their way over, and Trevor can see now that the stone-lined hole set into the floor of the hut is a close approximation of the original descending stairs into the library. Alucard has collected stone rubble from around the ruins, and somehow cut it to shape to form new interlocking walls and steps. There’s traces of original carved decoration still visible, and it makes Trevor’s chest clench in a peculiar way to see a new part of the library built from the rubble of the mansion.
Alucard gestures grandly into the black pit, as if they should be able to see something down there.
Then he blinks and looks sheepish. ‘Ah… Sypha, the lights if you will.’
Sypha snorts, chuckling good naturedly, then twists her hands in that elegant way she does when conjuring fire. There’s a gust of wind down into the pit which snatches at her curls, and rows of torches burst into flame.
Alucard gently takes both their hands - his hands are cold, much cooler than normal - and leads them down the steps. Sypha gasps. Trevor goggles, slack-jawed.
Alucard has rebuilt almost everything. The only things missing are the railings on the first staircase leading down, and judging by the collection of tools, stacked wood, and the workbench on the first ringed level he’d been in the middle of doing that when they arrived.
All of the surviving carpets, curtains, portraits, statues, and other decorations have been carefully removed, probably stashed in the library below. Trevor can see small neat piles of shredded carpet and burnt curtains on the bottom floor far below - too far gone to save, he guesses.
Alucard has preserved as much of the surviving timber structure as he can. The new timber is paler in colour, and everywhere there’s sporadic dark patches where Alucard has carefully incorporated parts of staircases and floors that survived that night. The new parts of the structure are a painstakingly close match to how the original was. Alucard has somehow managed to turn replicas of the staircase balustrades, despite Trevor not being able to see a lathe anywhere. How?
‘Did you do this all by yourself?’ breathes Sypha incredulously.
‘I needed something to keep me busy,’ murmurs Alucard. He looks quite bashful now, as if he wasn't expecting them to be quite so flabbergasted.
Trevor gets his mouth working again. ‘Fuck me backwards - how did you even do all this? We weren't gone for that long!’
‘I wanted to make it weatherproof as quickly as possible,’ says Alucard. ‘I couldn’t bear the thought of rain seeping into the collection, or something like that. I– it's very sound, but I worked very fast. After that, it occured to me that I should probably put stairs back in, so you can actually get to the library without using magic or rope.’
‘Where did you get all this timber? There wasn't that much left lying around.’
‘I found some stashed in the library, and I managed to reuse quite a bit out of what had been destroyed. As for the rest, there was enough seasoned standing dead timber in the forest around here to make what I needed.’
‘So you just rebuilt all the stairs and balconies in, what, two weeks?’
Alucard’s starting to look pleased with himself again. ‘It’s not done yet, but I had thought it’d take me longer as well.’
Sypha interjects; ‘How, though? Did you just not sleep?’
‘No, I didn’t. I didn’t really feel the need to.’ Alucard suddenly looks apprehensive. ‘Is– I know I should have asked before I did anything, but this means that the library is protected from the weather now, and the stairs mean that you can easily get down there now. Is this all okay? I tried to copy the original as much as I could.’
‘Of course it’s okay,’ says Trevor firmly. ‘I gave you this place because you knew the value of the library underneath it. I just didn’t expect you to hook in and fix the interior right away.’
Alucard’s lips upturn at the corners, warmth in his eyes. Trevor’s heart does an odd little flutter, and Alucard says; ‘I’m glad you’re okay with it. I just needed something to keep me busy.’
Sypha holds up one finger. ‘Alucard, have you been working on this non-stop for two weeks?’
‘Yes,’ he says bluntly.
Trevor and Sypha glance at each other. Alucard doesn’t need much sleep, but he still benefits from a few hours of shut-eye and regular rests. They’ve yet to see him go this hard for this long. Trevor’s certain that the only way Alucard could have got this much work done in so little time was to not even pause for breath.
Alucard is a bottomless unfathomable well, like Sypha said, and it's impossible to see very far into him. But even Trevor knows this isn't a good sign. The dirt and mud encrusting Alucard suddenly seems so much more sinister, like he was burying something he didn’t want anyone to see.
‘That was very good of you to do this,’ murmurs Trevor, putting one hand on Alucard's muddy shoulder. ‘It hurt a lot to see it get so torn up. I’m glad to see it in one piece again - I just hope you didn’t feel–’ Trevor pauses, looking for the right word. ‘–pressured to fix it, or anything. You’re allowed to rest when you want, Alucard.’
Alucard shrugs, Trevor’s attempt at a gentle comment apparently not having made a single ripple in the well. ‘I needed something to keep me busy, and I lost track of time.’
Sypha crouches on the balls of her feet, looking down into the library. ‘Alucard, I’d love to go down there and explore your fantastic handiwork, but I’m covered in dust and Trevor smells like a corpse’s armpit again. Perhaps we should all clean up before you give us a tour, eh?’
‘Excuse me for not having brought my frankincense and myrrh,’ grumbles Trevor. ‘I don’t see why I’m being insulted when Alucard here looks like a pig that’s found a new mud wallow.’
Alucard smiles. ‘Ah yes, but I only smell like dirt. You smell like a mouse died in your hair.’
‘Fuck you, that mouse is breakfast for tomorrow.’
Sypha grins. ‘The castle wouldn’t happen to have a trough we can dunk him in, does it?’
Alucard’s face flickers. It’s only for a moment, but Trevor catches it. Something about going into the castle did that.
Alucard hesitates for a long moment, apparently quickly weighing up his options before eventually saying; ‘There’s a Roman-style bath on the ground floor. It was originally reserved for guests - it should still be working.’
Sypha’s whole face lights up, eyes twinkling. ‘A Roman bath?’
A tiny smile creeps onto Alucard’s face. ‘We might even be able to find some frankincense and myrrh to douse Trevor in.’