Socrates handed me his burning book torch. I held it up for them while Socrates grabbed the bottom of the cage and helped Heathcliff wrangle Quoth and Grey upstairs. Mrs. Ellis, Oscar, and I brought up the rear. From somewhere amongst the shelves I heard frightened footsteps and the oppressive presence of Dracula nearby. At any moment I expected to feel fangs sink into my neck, but he stayed back. He didn’t want to hurt me. Yet.
We needed to make Quoth safe from him, and then I would slay his ass so hard he’d be shitting garlic.
Heathcliff and Socrates took their load straight to my bedroom. Fiona shrieked as we crashed into her space. Jo leaped from her chair. “Mina, what happened to Quoth? And why are you holding a burning book?”
As soon as he passed over the salt trail at the door, Quoth quieted. His wings drooped and he turned to me with wide, terrified eyes. “Croooooak?”
“I’m so, so sorry.” Fresh tears fell. I touched Quoth’s cheek, but he jerked away. My chest ached, but I didn’t know if it was from the loss of blood or my heart breaking.
I had to believe Quoth could be saved.
On the bed, Fiona bucked and thrashed. I didn’t want to tie Quoth down with her in case she kicked out and injured him. I remembered the hook Morrie hung from the ceiling – the same one he used to handcuff me while he and Quoth did filthy, beautiful things to my body. The memory caught in my throat.
While Heathcliff rolled Grey from his shoulders and dropped him to the floor, I grabbed one of Morrie’s harnesses and stood on his desk to clamp it to the hook. Heathcliff grabbed Quoth from the cage and held him while I fitted the handcuffs around his neck and tightened them onto the tightest setting.
“Croooooak!” Quoth found a second wind. He thrashed and bit and scratched as we fought to keep hold of him.
The second cuff went around his middle. By the time we’d secured him my arms were covered in bloody scratches and I could barely see through my tears, but he wouldn’t be going anywhere.
I stroked his head. “We’re going to find a way to bring you back. I promise.”
He thrashed about in the restraints, his croaks high-pitched and laced with pain. I dropped from the chair. Heathcliff caught me in his arms.
“You’re still bleeding.” He touched his fingers to my neck. I winced as a fresh wave of pain left me dizzy.
“Mina needs a first aid kit,” Mrs. Ellis declared from the corner where she was canoodling with Socrates. I guess if you were trapped in a house with a dangerous vampire, there were worse things to do than snogging one of the world’s greatest philosophers.
“There’s one under the bed, with my collection of novelty butt plugs,” Morrie said as he ran into the room.
“On it.” Jo slid under the bed.
Relief washed over me as Morrie stalked across the room and wrapped his arms around me and Heathcliff. He was okay. He made it back alive.
“How’d you get in?” Heathcliff snapped. “I’ve never given you a key.”
“I’m a criminal mastermind, remember?” Morrie upturned a shopping bag onto the bed. “I know at least seventeen ways in and out of this building that don’t require a key. Do you want me to list them, or should we get on with vampire-proofing the birdie?”
“What have you got?” I peer at the random selection of bottles and jars.
“They were all out of fresh garlic at the market,” Morrie said. “Apparently there’s been a run on the stuff this week.”
I groaned. It was all my mother’s fault, stirring up vampire-fever in Argleton. And then I remembered that my mother was in the store somewhere, and my chest tightened in fear.
“But then I remembered the market stalls. I got Mrs. Traverson to sell me her entire stock of extra-garlicky pasta sauce.” Morrie unscrewed the lid off the jar. A delicious garlic and basil scent swirled through the room. “I thought we could smear it all over Quoth’s body and maybe you could lick it off, nice and slow.”
“That’s terrible, but it’s the best we’ve got.” I unscrewed a lid and reached inside for a big dollop of pasta sauce, which I smeared across Quoth’s cheek.
“Crooooooak.” He thrashed and spat and nipped at our hands, but we were relentless. By the time we were done, Quoth looked like he’d been mummified by an Italian chef. He smelled deliciously garlicky. Morrie hung a silver crucifix around his neck, and it seemed to sap the last of his strength. He hung in his restraints, croaking softly.
We had to hope it was enough to protect him from Dracula for now.
Jo grabbed my hand and sat me on the corner of the bed. She tossed a bottle of soda into my lap while behind her, Victor held up a a bottle of holy water and a needle and thread. Jo pushed the soda into my hand. “Drink that. It’ll help replace your sugars. This is going to hurt like a motherfucker, but you need to hold still or Victor will fuck you up even worse.”
She was not wrong. I felt every sting of Victor’s needle, every tug of my flesh, every splash of holy water like it was scalding hot coffee on an open wound. I guzzled the soda, which sat in my stomach like a lead weight.
Morrie offered the edge of his hand to bite down on, something he usually relished during sex but apparently not when Victor Frankenstein was stitching me up like one of his monsters. Morrie screamed and jerked away, shaking his hand. “Now we’re both bleeding. What are we going to do, Mina?”
The Napoleon of Crime’s face was drawn. He didn’t look sure of himself. He looked like he had absolutely no idea what to do next, and that wasn’t something Morrie had experienced before. Through the dwindling fire of our book torch, I noticed him move closer to Heathcliff, their hands clasping together.
